


but I won't lie to you

by mmtion



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, supervillain Iris, villain Iris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmtion/pseuds/mmtion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Iris thought about how she’d spend this weekend, she certainly did not imagine: a) infiltrating a couple’s retreat to save her fellow super-villain colleagues; or b) doing so with her brother’s best friend whom she recently slept with.<br/>It’s all rather stressful, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks, as always, to Ella (julietohara on tumblr, SmoakScreen on ao3). also to everyone on tumblr (find me at mmmtion) who encouraged me and listened to my whinging about how long this got and answered dumb questions about basketball teams and eye colours.  
> sorry it's so late (I think I first started the idea in May!) but hopefully it's worth the wait? ahh i'm so nervous about posting this lol

Iris would like to assert that she did not, ever, intend to sleep with her brother’s best friend. Especially wearing a slutty shark costume.

 

_Five and a half hours earlier…_

Iris is awkwardly standing in the hallway, alone amidst the murmurs of people talking in different rooms and the clink of cutlery and plates from the buffet table. Honestly, she doesn’t know what possessed Mason to throw a meta-human-themed dinner party for his employees and their friends, but she’s really very uncomfortable about the whole situation.

She’d wanted an early night tonight, even disregarding the event’s type; she’d had barely four hours sleep since yesterday. She stifles a yawn behind her champagne glass. At least that’s one benefit of coming to her boss’s house: free booze. ~~~~

She’s just contemplating how long she really has to stay for when she startles at a sudden voice.  “What on earth are you supposed to be?”

Barry Allen, much to her surprise, appears from the kitchen door opposite her and clearly has the same finely-tuned ‘Opportunity-To-Make-Fun-Of-Iris’ radar that Wally has. He looks as out of place as she does amongst the rich, burgundy wallpaper and displays of fine china and intimidating journalism awards.

Iris pulls a face. “Is the shark part not obvious?” To be fair, she had decided to leave the sweat-smelling plastic mask that might’ve helped at home. But she really didn’t fancy catching a cold sore from that thing, especially having only rented it a few hours ago, last-minute and desperate.

“It kind of just looks like you’re wearing a aluminium foil mini dress,” he admits, eyes twinkling with humour. He nods to her feet. “And flippers.”

“Um,” Iris adopts a sarcastic tone as twists to point at her back decoration. “I have a _fin_.”

Barry crouches a little (this is why she usually wears heels) and squints to inspect the, admittedly rather pathetic looking, fin. “So you do,” he agrees, straightening with a crinkling smile she’d always found endearing. Even when they were all kids, and he kept grinning through his apology for pouring itching powder in her bed sheets, she’d found it difficult to stay mad at him.

She turns back. “That enough of a clue?”

“Hm. So you’re dressed as a shark at a metahuman themed party. You’re King Shark?” His grin widens, betraying his following words. “Seems a little insensitive, doesn’t it?”

Iris rolls her eyes. “This whole party is insensitive. I only came because Linda said I had to.”

Barry lets out a laugh. “Yeah, I’d say you have to come to your boss’s party.”

She scowls, though it’s mostly for show; talking to someone familiar who isn’t from work certainly makes her night easier. “Well, what are you doing here? As far as I know, they haven’t started hiring CSIs at CCPN.”

He blushes, much to her surprise. “I’m actually here on a date.”

She hits him on the arm and he yelps, probably in shock rather than actual pain.

“Ow!”

“Why are you talking to me then?” she scolds, though biting back her smile - she’s heard many stories of Barry’s various dating disasters, mostly caused by his perpetual lateness. "You should be busy, I don't know, wooing her or whatever." 

“I just came over to say hi, is that a crime now?” he justifies. Then he scratches the back of his head. “Anyway, it’s not really going well.”

“Why?”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “She’s spent the whole time hitting on the entertainment reporter.”

“Who, Susan?” Iris bends to look through the doorway to the living room, and spies Susan, indeed, curled in a shadowy corner with a relatively beautiful brunette. “Well, shit. That sucks.”

Barry makes a noncommittal noise in reply. He doesn’t necessarily seem that bothered, but Iris doubts it isn’t at least awkward for him to watch his date get with someone else.

Then she has an idea: “You want to get out of here?”

After a beat of hesitation where he actually seems to mull the idea over, he shakes his head. “We can’t leave. You _definitely_ can’t.”

“Sure we can. I’ve put in an appearance and you’ve got a rude date to escape from.”

She can tell he’s coming round to the idea. “Well, what excuse would we say?”

“The same one I always use,” Iris says, already texting Linda to cover for them. “It totally applies to you as well, don’t worry.”

“What is it?” he asks suspiciously.

“It’s brilliant, just warning you,” she says, a teasing lilt to her tone. Once she’s sure he’s ready for her genius, she says, with victoriously spread arms, “I just say Wally’s in a play and he needs me in the audience for his stage fright.”

Barry snorts, and does not seem impressed at all. “That does not seriously work.” She can understand his scepticism; Wally’s acting career began and ended with his role as a sheep in their kindergarten nativity production.

“I swear to god, every single time.” Iris says, managing a straight face while Barry starts laughing. “No, seriously! Every time Wally comes to visit me in the office, Mason asks him his opinion on different theatre productions.”

“You’re kidding. Does Wally know?”

Iris shakes her head, and Barry’s laughter picks up again, throwing his head back and giving her a full view of the long lines of his throat. “That’s the best part, to be honest. Once, Mason asked what he thought about ‘ _Cats_ ’ and I swear to you, Wally just replied,” here, she adopts a deeper voice to imitate her brother, “‘Um, I guess I’m more of a dog person, really.’”

Barry grins, and she’s glad to see him cheered. "Alright then," he allows. "Let’s do it. Let's escape."

"Alright - meet you out front?"

He nods, and they split in different directions. She makes her way to where she last saw Mason, in the billiard room. (Seriously, who has a billiard room except Cluedo players?) He's just telling a story about a bottle of expensive-looking wine in his hands when she approaches, phone in hand and apologetic expression on her face. "Mason, I'm really sorry, but I've got to go-"

"Wally?"

"Yeah," she winces emphatically, and elaborates. "Sorry, it's a production of Frankenstein and even the guy who was supposed to play the monster hasn't shown up."

"It's fine! Go, go," he waves her off and she's already backing up. "Please, I only wish my sister was as supportive of my creativity. Let me know how it goes."

"Will do!" She calls even as she  quickly makes her way towards the door, waving her goodbyes to the odd colleague who catches her eye. If Mason ever finds out, she is _so_ fired, but whatever.

Standing on the outside porch, as promised, is Barry, who responds to her affirmative nod with a small finger salute. "So, what's the plan?" he asks as they walk down the steps and to the pavement.

She shrugs. She hadn't really thought past just leaving the stifling house. To be honest, she hadn't really thought Barry would want to hang out, and was just planning to say goodbye to him as well. But now she's standing with him, free of immediate responsibilities and standing under the night sky, and she's feeling a little adventurous.

"We probably can't get into a bar dressed like this," she considers. It's only now that she really gets the opportunity to examine Barry's outfit, and she lets out a giggle. The poor-fitting red and yellow spandex definitely has an obvious inspiration: "The Flash? Seriously?"

"What?" he grins, puffing out his chest to stretch out the fabric across his chest, the badly-drawn lightning bolt unavoidable. "You got something against the hero of Central City?"

"Something like that," she says, the corner of her lips lifting ruefully.

(Iris actually has a bruise running across her thigh from a fight against the Flash a few days ago, but whatever. She digresses.)

They end up in a 24-hour burger joint, thanks to Barry having a car and sticking to ginger beer at Mason’s. Iris considers getting a small portion of fries for about a millisecond before she remembers that Barry once saw her eat a literal bowl of dirt for a dare and orders a bucket of fried chicken. They steal into a booth with their paper bags, slurping milkshakes and ignoring the slightly-perturbed looks of other customers, probably wondering why a shitty Flash and slutty shark are stuffing their faces with fast food.

Iris supposes it’s the familiarity between them that makes this not an abnormal situation. Wally and Barry became friends in elementary school, both part of the after-school science club and both huge comic book geeks. The three of them were inseparable, since Iris and Barry were in the same grade and when you're that young, your siblings' friends are basically your friends.

She reexamines Barry as he dips his fries in barbeque sauce. He's still the same dork she remembers, but he's lost some of the awkwardness that always accompanied his gangly frame and long limbs, and his high cheekbones and bright eyes finally suit him. He'd drifted a little apart from the West siblings, mostly due to jobs and college and growing up. But Iris still probably walked in to Barry with her brother in her home once a month, or at the precinct talking to her dad every few weeks.

"So how'd you meet your date?" she asks in between a gulp of her soda. "I know Wally's been trying to get you on Tinder."

Barry rolls his eyes. "You know he actually set me up an account? But with my worst pictures. Girls I actually knew personally have started avoiding me."

Iris starts laughing, clapping a hand to her face. "Oh god. Please tell me he put the-"

"The one with the jelly bean ice cream all over my face?" Barry nods with pressed together lips. "Oh yeah. You'll be surprised to know the matches weren't exactly flying in."

She laughs. "Well, I wouldn't be trusting Wally with dating advice anyway. He only landed Linda because she went after him, believe me."

"Oh yeah?" He raises his eyebrows, and asks after a beat, "So, what do you think about him and Linda?"

She shrugs. After meeting at Iris' birthday party, and sharing a love for baseball and _Saturday Night Live_ , Wally and Linda have been dating for six months, despite the occasional arguments she has the pleasure of hearing about from both sources. The more she sees them together, she more she believes in them. "It was weird at first. You know, my best friend dating my little brother. But they're happy, so I'm happy."

"You're not worried that they'll break up?"

"Kind of," she admits. She adds, intending it as a joke, "But if it gets awkward, I guess I'll just date one of his friends to make us even."

It then hits her that she just said that in front of one of her brother's aforementioned friends.

She coughs awkwardly, keeping her gaze locked on the empty straw wrappers on the table. "I mean, uh."

"It's fine," he says. She looks up to see him quirking his lips a touch self-deprecatingly. "I wasn’t even- I mean. Come on, like you'd ever date me."

She frowns. "What does that mean?

He laughs, and starts fiddling with his drink. He says again, "Come on. You're- you." He gestures flippantly to her, as if that's supposed to make _any_ sense. "And I'm me."

She realises that his failed date must have affected his confidence more than she previously thought, and she reaches over to place her hand over his. “Don’t say that,” she says, feeling bold and loose-lipped with the empty restaurant and night-time isolationism. “You’re funny and intelligent and kind. And very attractive.”

He turns his hand over so their fingers slot together. Iris’ heart starts beating fast, as if she senses the dangerous territory they’re about to cross.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

The way the light hits his rumpled hair from his costume makes her memory jolt. She’s abruptly hit with the memory of being ten years old and having the most awful crush on Barry. She obviously must have grown out of it, but she remembers a similar moment in the Allen tree house, hiding from their friends during some game or something, and it being the first time she really wanted to kiss someone.

He turns his face and she realises that they’re closer than she realised, thighs pressed together on the cheap seats. She’s always known, in an abstract way, that Barry is cute, and he’s been working out recently, but she’s never thought about it much further. It’s like thinking your teacher is hot, or a friend’s boyfriend. Some things shouldn’t be mentally explored.

But now he’s looking straight at her and she thinks that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to explore a little.

“Iris-” he begins, but she thinks, ‘fuck it’, and presses her lips against his.

He doesn’t move for a microsecond and fear begins to set in. But then the hand that isn’t intertwined with hers reaches up to cup her cheek as his mouth begins to move with hers. She’s struck that he’s actually a pretty great kisser, and she sinks into him, pressing close and turning her whole body towards him.

She breaks away from him and opens her eyes just in time to see his still closed.

“Iris,” he says again, eyes still shut. “What are you doing?”

“It’s probably a bad idea,” she says, because of course it is, kissing your brother’s childhood friend at eleven at night in a burger joint.

“Probably,” he agrees, but before she can move away he puts a hand on her waist and kisses her again, this time with more force. God, if she thought he was a talented kisser beforehand, she had no comparison to a determined Barry Allen. She loses herself in his touch, wrapping her arms around his neck and wanting to be as close as possible to him.

They hear a cough, and pull apart to see an embarrassed teenage employee trying to look anywhere else but at them. “My manager says you have to stop that,” he squeaks, holding a broom like he might actually use it as a weapon if they start up again.

Iris hides her smile. “Sure, sorry, we were just leaving,” and she tugs at Barry’s hand as they slide out of the booth. She doesn’t want to let go of him, doesn’t want to break the connection and ruin this feeling of excitement and attraction and the unknown.

They walk to his car, still holding hands. Iris realises they’re going to have to break apart just to get into the car, so before he pulls away from her, she lands back against the car and curls him to her with a hand fisted in his terrible costume. He leans his hands on either side of her, trapping her in. She likes being surrounded by him, feels her blood surging at the sensation.

“Take me to your apartment,” she says, maintaining eye contact so her meaning is unmistakable. Her tongue wets her bottom lip and his eyes track the movement of it.

“Fuck, Iris,” he says, a little desperately. “Are you sure?”

“Barry,” she says, fitting her thigh between his legs and ever so gently lifting up and rubbing along his crotch. “Barry, take me to your apartment.”

They make it there in record time, and Iris is pretty sure Barry goes through a red light at some point. They barely talk in the car, and as soon as they reach the building entrance, Iris is already slipping underneath Barry’s arms as he taps at the keypad for the apartment block, nosing at his neck and smiling into his skin at the little “Holy fuck,” exhale it elicits.

They stumble into the elevator, pawing at each other like some cliche. Iris thinks they’re both desperate to stay in the moment, terrified of reality hitting them. Barry lives on the fifth floor, and as the elevator doors ping open, Iris doesn’t let go, and Barry simply manoeuvres her by her hips as they make it down the hallway. They crash into the wall at one point, and Iris just takes the moment to curl a leg over Barry’s waist, pulling their bodies flush against each other.

A door beside them opens and bright light fans into the dim corridor. “Mr Allen?”

Barry retracts his lips from Iris’ neck to look at the elderly woman, dressed in silk pyjamas and holding a phone ready to dial 911. Iris hides her grin in his shoulder, refusing to move her leg. “Hi, Mrs Zellweger,” he says, perfectly politely. “Sorry if we disturbed you.”

Mrs Zellweger only raises an eyebrow. “Have a nice night, you two.” She closes the door and Iris lets out the giggle she’d been holding in.

“Shut up,” Barry says, though he’s grinning as well. “She’s never going to feed my fish now.”

“Your fish are still alive?” she teases incredulously. “Have you even kept a plant alive for a week?”

“You’re so annoying,” he says, in a growling timbre she definitely did not imagine could come from Barry (though now she’s heard it, a shiver runs through her from head to toe). But she just giggles again, so he lifts at her other leg and picks her bodily up. She lets out a little yelp as he starts carrying her forward a few feet, and slams her against his door, holding her in place while he rummages for his keys in his back pocket. Determined to give back as good as she gets, she leans her hips forward so her crotch firmly rubs against the bulge in his jeans. He lets out a little groan and nips at her earlobe in return. “Let me at least get us inside,” he says, probably not intending it to sound as much like a plea as it does.

She just grabs his chin between her thumb and forefinger, and kisses him firmly. She hears the jangle of keys and the snick of the lock opening, but doesn’t pay it much attention when Barry slips his tongue inside her mouth, and one of his hands is holding her up by the meat of her ass. He pushes them inside, and spins them both against the other side of the door. He grinds his hips up, and she has to break away from his lips to gasp. “Fuck, okay,” she pants. “We’re inside. What’s your plan?”

“It _was_ the bed,” he admits, in between sucking a mark on the skin between her neck and shoulder. “But that seems so far away.”

Iris has to admit, it does, especially if it means she has to let go of Barry for even a second. He squeezes at her ass and her head _thunks_ back against the door. “Barry,” she says, definitely not meaning for it to come out so breathless.

"Fuck," he says, forehead falling onto her collarbone. They're both breathing heavily. Iris has the odd thought of why didn't her brother warn her that his friend was so fucking sexy, and she pushes the thought away before she starts giggling slightly hysterically. Barry flexes his fingers on her ass and she pushes her crotch against him, grinding shamelessly for friction. "Okay," he decides, in between one heavy exhale and the next. "Okay, we're going to go to a bed. If you keep doing shit like that, I'm definitely going to drop you."

Iris is expecting him to let her down so they can walk through his apartment, but he simply spins them, still holding her up and wrapped around his torso, and starts walking towards the bedroom. She presses a grin into his neck before she bites gently at the rim of his ear, smile widening at the breathy curse it produces.

She'd definitely like to thank whatever gym Barry's been going to, especially as he gently lowers her onto the bed with apparent ease: seriously, is there a personal trainer she should send a fruit basket to?

He leans over her, and his eyes track over her face. She's not sure what he's looking for, but she tries to show how much she wants this in case it's consent or enthusiasm. Her arms are still wrapped around his neck, though her feet fall to curl in his sheets, and she tugs him closer, kissing him with meaning. "Barry," she whispers against his lips. "Fuck me, Barry."

He lets out a curse, and surges against her, driving the gratifying bulge of his groin between her legs, pressing at her clit through the thin fabric of their costumes. She can't wait any longer with a promise like that, and she starts tugging at the top part of his ridiculous costume. "Barry," she, embarrassingly, whines. "Come on, how do you get this off?" An gasp of a laugh escapes him, and he leans up to pull the top half off, revealing his bare torso.

Screw the fruit basket, Iris is going to send her bank account details.

She can't stop her hands from immediately chasing after that chest, squeezing at his waist. Her palms stroke up, pushing over each dip and curve, and then back down, brushing the pads of her fingers over his nipples and reaching down for the trail of hair emerging between the V of his hips. He leans back to kneel between her bent legs before she can get at the trousers of his costume, and slowly pulls down the zip at the side of her dress.

“Oh, wait,” she says, leaning up on her elbows.

He immediately lets go of her zip. “What’s up?” he asks, sounding concerned, which Iris is a little touched by.

She just grins apologetically. “I, um,  need to take my fin off.”

The laugh seems to be startled out of Barry, and he ducks his chin to his collarbone as his shoulders shake. She kicks at the side of his thigh with her heel.

“Shut up,” she says, though she’s smiling as well. “Come on, help me get it off. And take your trousers off, I am _not_ having sex with the Flash.”

His smile only widens at that for some reason, but he obligingly helps her take off all of costume and his, including her ridiculous flippers. They’re in their underwear, and this probably should be the part where they bottle it, and reality douses them like cold water. But all Iris can see is how hot Barry looks in his snug boxers briefs, and he’s too busy staring at her bared tits.

He crawls back on top of her, sucking and kissing his way up her chest. He cups one breast in one hand and kisses a spiral around her areola on the other. She writhes in his bed sheets as he bites gently and then sucks at the same area, varying between pinching her other nipple and massaging the rest of the flesh. She’s already panting, and is raring to go, before Barry starts retracing his path back down her torso, mouthing at the lip of her panties. She has a moment of panic before she remembers that she did shave today and he curls his fingers in the sides, tugging the lacy fabric down.

There’s a second where vulnerability hits her, like it always does when someone’s facing down your vulva. But then Barry gets to work, and _holy mother of god._ She’s gasping and clapping a hand over her mouth to hold back her profanities and unintelligible sounds before she knows, reaching out a hand to curl in Barry’s hair when he manages a particularly impressive move, combining a flick of his tongue with the curl of his fingers inside her. It seems no time at all before she’s reaching up for a pillow and holding it over her face so she can scream into it.

“Holy fuck,” she says as she comes down from the high, throwing the pillow to the side. She’s probably lost a few brain cells, because all she can manages is, “Barry, what the fuck?”

Still pumping three fingers in and out of her, he wipes the back of his other hand over his smug mouth. “You like that?”

She rolls her eyes - at least there’s no doubt that this isn’t an imposter, that this is still the same Barry who once sat on her to celebrate his victory in _MarioKart_. And, well, she’s always been competitive.

She beckons him with a finger, and when he’s all stretched out over her, just the thin fabric of his stretched underwear separating their sweaty skin, she pulls up her thighs and clenches them around his waist, using the hold to flip them over. He lets out a surprised puff of breathy laughter, which quickly gives way to a moan when she grinds purposefully against his crotch. His fingers grip onto her waist but she slithers out of his grasp and down his legs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the lines of his torso, before peeling down his underwear and revealing a rather lovely cock.

She gently kisses the side of the head, and Barry flinches. “You’re going to kill me,” he says, though he doesn’t sound particularly concerned about it.

She smirks at that, before grasping the base in the curl of her palm and then slotting her lips over the tip. She bobs her head gently up and down, building up saliva before really going to town, using her hand to match the tempo of her mouth. She presses her tongue flat against the underside, and makes sure to rub it against the head with each move up. He’s letting out a string of curses, which only encourages her to gently cup his balls with her spare hand, rubbing a thumb carefully over the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Iris, you gotta- _fuck_ \- Iris, I’m not going to-” he sounds desperate, and she lets him go with a slick, wet sound, because there’s still a step left that she assumes they both want to get to. He sits up and pulls her to him so she sits in his lap, kissing her passionately. She loses herself in the slide of his tongue and the movement of his lips, grabbing onto his hair and pressing along his chest. He kneads her ass, and it takes her a moment to realise that what they’re doing is pretty dangerous. She knows she doesn’t have anything, and she doubts Barry does either, but she still kneels up to create some space between them.

“Do you have a condom?” she asks determinedly.

He nods, looking slightly dazed, before visibly shaking himself and then stretching back to reach for his bedside table. He grabs at the drawer, and manages to upend the entire thing over the floor, crashing the contents over the floor.

She leans over him to grab the closest foil square, and lets out a little laugh.

"What?" he asks.

She shakes her head, grinning as she holds up at the plastic container that also fell out. "I didn't know you still used retainers."

"Fuck off," he says, reaching up to grab her around the waist, making her yelp as he pulls her back on the bed. He plucks both the retainer box and the condom from her fingers, throwing away the retainers and ignoring the thud as it lands somewhere on the carpet. "I seem to remember you having some pretty dorky braces as well."

She groans. "Don't remind me, I had to hide the school photo of that year from Dad. He kept putting it up over the fireplace."

Barry's leaning over her, and the reminder of their shared history suddenly makes the moment a little more intimate, a little scarier if Iris thinks about it too much. He smiles softly. "I thought you were cute."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right." She knows what she looked like in middle school, and she knows Barry's only teasing her. He opens his mouth to say something else, but she just nods to the foil held between his fingertips. "You know how to use that, stud?"

He huffs, and leans in to nip at her chin. "So demanding." He rolls the latex on, and lines up, arms bracketed on either side of her head and sweat making his body glean. He looks back up to catch her gaze. "You sure?" he asks.

She can only nod, his care making her feel more than she expected. He pushes inside her with one long, deliberate movement, and she lets out a moan at the feel of him. She hikes up a leg over his shoulder to stretch herself wide, and his chin dips as he lets out a strained gasp.

He pulls back and the first thrust forces the breath out of her. As he picks up movement, he rests his weight on one arm so he can reach down and rub the pads of his fingers against her clit. It doesn’t take long after that until she’s chanting his name with each thrust, and pulling him down for a messy, bruising, gasping kiss. He starts moving faster and faster, building a steady rhythm and occasionally circling his hips until the heat building in her starts getting nearly unbearable. It’s the only explanation for why it suddenly feels as if Barry’s fingers are actually vibrating on her, which is obviously impossible. Whatever he’s doing to her, it’s working, and when he lifts his hips just enough that his next thrust hits the perfect spot inside her, she peaks and crashes, closing her eyes and mouth falling open.

As she floats, his pace reaches a ridiculous speed, and he buries his face in her neck as his movement becomes erratic and he comes. He pulls out of her and ties up the condom, throwing it away and landing next to her.

She thinks this is where the awkwardness should follow, where the endorphins fade and reality sobers them. But he just pulls the sheets up over them and curls an arm around her shoulders, and she rests her cheek onto his chest like it’s normal. Like this means anything.

 

_Now._

She wakes up to the chime of her phone receiving a text. It’s still dark, and when she rolls over to grab her phone from her fallen purse near the bed, she sees it’s barely two in the morning. She rubs at her eyes and then immediately regrets it when she sees the smudge of her mascara on the heel of her palm. She looks back to see Barry is still sound asleep, arms thrown out with one behind her neck.

She slips out from underneath the sheets and reaches for her underwear, slipping it on before sneaking to the bathroom, closing the bedroom door behind her. She turns on the light and winces at her ruined make-up and sex-mess hair. She desperately tries to calm it and rescue what she can of her eyeliner as the horror of what she’s just done sinks in.

She just slept with her brother’s best friend. One of her own friends.

_Fuck_.

To distract herself from the anxious guilt bubbling up, she checks the text message that woke her. It’s from Laurel, which immediately wakes Iris up:

LAUREL: job @ Lexcorp Tower, meet u on HSBC rooftop

She sends up a little thank you to wherever Laurel Lance is, for giving her the perfect opportunity to leave. She might’ve stuck around until daylight, panicking and undoubtedly making it worse with a morning conversation, but now she has a reason to sneak out. Not a reason she can ever tell Barry, but at least she has a tiny bit of moral justification to herself.

She slips back into the bedroom to grab her clothes, hailing an Uber on her phone as she decides to just hold the flippers rather than even try and be graceful in them. She sneaks out, using all of her experience and learning to slip out without making a sound. She feels worthless and kind of sick and furious at herself. Maybe there's some more lifetime friendships she can go ruin; after all, the night’s still young.

She steels herself. She's an adult, and she made a decision and it was a mistake. Barry was consensual, and they both have responsibility for what happened. Time to stop being a drama queen and time to start fixing it. As the Uber cab pulls up to the curb, she sends a text message.

To BARRY: have to get up early for work. sorry if things are awkward now, didn’t mean things to get so out of hand. hope we can still be friends.

To BARRY: p.s can we agree not to tell wally. like, ever.

She gets back to her apartment and rushes upstairs, throwing off her stupid shark costume as soon as she gets inside. As she does so, she realises she left the fin at Barry’s: there goes her deposit.

She strides to her closet, pushing aside her clothes and opening the hidden little hatch door on the back wall. Inside is a fingerprint scanner which she presses her thumb to. There’s the usual beep and green light, and the wall separates, the invisible seam between the two halves widening silently.

Behind the doors is a lit display, with a few pistols, rope harnesses, small smoke and light bombs, various poisons and antidotes arranged around the main centrepiece, her black, feline costume, kitted with a utility belt and individually customised claws. The mask covers the top of her face, leaving her mouth and jawline exposed (though she has an additional piece that can attach in case she needs to filter gas or toxins, or breathe underwater).

When she puts on that costume, she is no longer Iris West. When she puts on that mask, she is the Jaguar.

 

It’s common knowledge that Detective Joe West has two happy, healthy children: Iris and Wally. He’s been a devoted single father, going to PTA meetings still in his police uniform, and often acting like a second father to Barry as well.

What’s less well known (and in fact, was also unknown by the West children for many years) is that Francine didn’t die of cancer when Iris was six and Wally was four. She ran out on their family because of a drug addiction. The only reason Iris knows this is because, during a small side project on her family tree, a way of procrastinating her first year college finals, she found the name Francine West as part of psychological study some students had done on the local rehab centre. And even Joe doesn’t know this: Iris visited her mother every day for a year, right up to when she really did die of cancer. She was already stage three by the time Iris talked to her, and could barely afford the rehab centre she was at, never mind the extensive medical care she would have needed.

Iris never blamed her father for not visiting Francine, or telling his children about her. He was already sending more money than he could really spare for Francine’s living costs, and Iris suspected her mother never told Joe about the cancer out of pride. But Iris was watching her mother slowly die before she even got the chance to know her, to know all her flaws and her mistakes and all the things she passed down to Iris. Francine was losing the light in her eyes that reminded Iris of Wally’s mischievous twinkle, was losing the smile Iris recognised in photos of herself. And all Iris had to offer was the odd portion of her Jitters paycheck.

 

_Two years ago…_

Iris shivers as she leaves the rehab centre, stepping out into the November evening chill. Stuck in her head is the image of her mother coughing so hard that the palm of her hand comes away specked with blood. All she wants in the world is to tell her dad, to let him lift away her pain and worries like he’s always managed to do. But he already sends money every month, and by not introducing Wally and Iris to their mother, he’s made his feelings on the matter clear. Iris doesn’t feel any anger, is too tired and too drained from the secrets and her mother’s declining health to have much room for it.

She starts the long walk to the nearest bus stop, ducking through the alleys and backstreets with her heart beating fast. It’s later than she usually leaves, and she holds her taser in her jacket pocket just in case.

But she makes it without any bother onto one of the main streets of Central City, in the financial district with skyscrapers reaching far above her to the stars. She’s just passing one of the smaller banks when something in the corner of her eye makes her stop.

She pauses, looks through the glass walls of the bank though the stuck-on designs and logos means she has tilt her head a little to get a good angle.

She claps her hand to her mouth in horror when she sees him: the security guard, face-down and sprawled on the tile floor. She rushes inside the doors without even thinking about it, kneeling down by his side.

He’s unconscious, but when she rolls him into the recovery position and holds her phone screen above his mouth, the screen quickly distorts from the condensation of his breath. She searches his body for any blood, and is about to call an ambulance on her phone when she notices something on the back of his neck. She reaches out and brushes it with the very tip of her finger; it’s a small, almost invisible dart embedded into the back of his neck.

Panic sets in. This isn’t just an accident or a health problem, someone wanted this man unconscious. 911 is already dialled on her phone, and, before she can chicken out, she presses call.

“This is 911, how can I help you?”

“I need an ambulance,” she whispers into the phone, head darting around for the mystery assailants to appear any moment. “And police, I’m at Wayne Family Bank, in Central City, I think there’s been a robbery.”

Maybe they’ve already left. Maybe all she has to do is just wait with this man until professional help comes. Because she can’t just leave him, she knows that much. She doesn’t know what kind of toxin is in the dart, and he could die any moment. But god, she’s scared. This looks like a high-level operation if they’re using fucking tranquilisers; most criminals she’s seen would’ve just shot the guy.

Just as the operator is telling her that a team has been dispatched, and is asking her more information about the injured man, a crashing sound breaks the silence. It sounds distant, maybe a floor at least above them. Iris flinches with the sound. The security desk is about a yard away - she’ll stay as long as she can with the man, and if it gets too dangerous, she’ll hide at the desk. She keeps fingers on the man’s pulse to monitor him, but it seems strong, albeit a bit sluggish.

A thud sounds. Then another, sounding heavy enough to be a person. Iris’ heart is pounding in her ears, but she stays with the man. It can’t be that long until the police get here. She gets her taser out just in case.

Another thud.

Iris is still deciding whether she should duck for cover when the door leading to the stairs busts open with a slam, and three masked individuals rush out. Iris feels her stomach sink as she quickly recognises the infamous trio: Black Siren, White Canary, and Captain Cold. Central City’s favourite criminals.

They stop as they see her, and without even thinking, Iris raises her taser. They’re way out of the way of its range, but they freeze.

Captain Cold smirks. “Cute.”

“I just- I just thought he had had a heart attack.” Iris doesn’t let her voice shake - she refuses to appear scared in front of them. The police will be here any moment, she reminds herself. “Don’t kill me.”

“We won’t,” Black Siren promises, tossing her dirty blonde locks over her shoulder.

“Waste of a bullet,” White Canary adds.

And then, easily, like like aren’t clearly carrying bags of stolen goods over their shoulders into a main street, they walk past both Iris and the unconscious security guard and out the front door. They pass within a few feet of her; Iris keeps her arm straight and her finger on the taser’s trigger. They all know she won’t press it; one girl with basic self-defence training versus three of Central City’s most wanted? Yeah, right.

As they leave, a wad of cash falls from one of the black duffel bags. They don’t notice, and are quickly gone into the night.

Iris stares at the money and the money stares back.

And this is how it all starts. Because Iris looks at those bundled notes, and she sees a few weeks of medicine for her mother.

When the police arrive, and Joe runs through the doors to grab his daughter in a hug, the money is safely hidden away in Iris’ bag. A few days later, a deposit into her mother’s bank account is made.

 

_Now._

She runs across Central City’s rooftops, leaping between the smaller gaps and using her grappling hook for the larger ones. She eventually leaps onto the HSBC rooftop, with is directly opposite the Lexcorp Tower - though the latter has a few extra hundred floors - and lands in a crouch.

Laurel and Sara are already there, waiting for her. The two sisters look almost ethereal in the shine of street lights, with their blonde hair whipping around their faces. She had started working with them not long after she began her mission of petty thievery; they were the ones to adopt her into their little group of vigilantes. They helped her build and customise her equipment, they taught her how to steal, and, most importantly, they taught her the power of a persona, of a costume and mask.

"What's up?" she asks as she walks closer to them.

"We got an amazing lead," Laurel replies. Iris can see her eyes gleam with the promise of an exciting new steal. “They’re switching the security system in the Lexcorp tower for an hour or so.”

“Lexcorp, Iris.” Sara emphasises. “That’s the big leagues.”

“Damn,” Iris says, softly, mind already whirring with the possibilities. There’d definitely be expensive paintings in the head offices, as well as valuable information and bank details if she could hack into a CEO or CFO computer. But: “If this is such a great lead, then where’s-”

She’s drowned out by the whirring of a helicopter landing on the pad on the building behind them. Iris spins and watches it land, the motors slow, and the door open. None other than Leonard Snart steps out, waving his hand once in recognition. Iris can just about make out the usual smirk on his features.

Sara rolls her eyes. “Always so dramatic.”

He throws across a backpack - for a moment, Iris is worried it’s going to fall straight down the gap between the buildings, but luckily Snart’s aim is true, and it lands just a few feet away from Iris’ feet. She picks it up - it’s mostly empty except for three earpieces, which she hands out between them. It’s all very _Ocean’s Eleven_.

Leonard’s voice crackles to life once she’s slotted the small tech into her ear. “Can you all hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Sara replies, saluting him in a gesture that drips sarcasm.

“Wonderful,” he says, in his distinctive drawl. “The three of you should split up in different directions, to cover more time. We have between forty five minutes and an hour as soon as I get the alert that the security systems are offline.”

“Will you not be able to see us then?” Iris asks. Usually Leonard taps into the security feeds, and she’s uncomfortable with going in without his watch.

“They’re just not connected to the wider framework,” he answers. “I planted a bug in there earlier today. They’ll see it by the time they do the checks, but I also have infrared on the chopper to look out for security guards when they do.”

“Sweet,” Laurel says, already reaching down to her own backpack of supplies, pulling out two huge grappling hook guns for Sara and herself. Iris prefer her own smaller pistol, designed by Snart for one person, which uses suction force to attach to the building rather than the more destructive design used by the Lance sisters.

Iris is still eyeing the helicopter, so she sees when Snart’s attention is suddenly grabbed by something on his tablet screen. “Alright,” he says. “Time to go.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Laurel’s pulling the trigger and letting her hook fly. Sara follows her quickly, and Iris can hear the crash of glass from here. Leonard doesn’t make any comments about their aim, so presumably they haven’t already alerted the attention of security.

They whiz off into the night, and soon disappear through the glass windows of the huge structure. Iris watches and waits - she and Leonard have always been the more patient of the team - to check they’ve got in safe.

“You coming, Jaguar?” They always resort to code-names on communication lines, just in case, but it doesn’t distort the taunting lilt to Laurel’s tone.

Iris smiles, and stretches, curling her arms above her head to feel the pop of her joints. Then she flicks open one of the pouches of her utility belt, slung artfully around her hips. “Just try and stop me,” she replies as she aims the small grappling pistol straight ahead at the Lexcorp glass.

She cocks her head and squints to be sure of the angle, and she presses the trigger. She's definitely imagining the _snikt_ of it sticking into place on one concrete beam, but she tugs on the rope a little to test its give just in case. She takes a deep breath, and, holding onto the thin wire, jumps.

She braces herself against the glass as she thuds against it and thankfully doesn't crash straight through - the plastic padding of her boot soles and her hard-earned grace ensure she lands quietly, though not particularly softly. She’s a few floors below Sara and Laurel, which is ideal. She double-checks her positioning by glancing down at the street below, ignoring the brief sway of vertigo, and then gets to work.

She taps her thumb against her forefinger three times, activating the small laser Snart had placed in the claw of her costume a few months ago, and aims it at the glass. It's quick work with the tool, specifically designed to cut through thick glass, and within a few minutes Iris has cut a hole just large enough for her to squeeze through. She lands in a crouch, freezing just to double check the alarms really are turned off.

“There’s two security guards coming in the hallway from your right,” Snart warns through her ear. She nods, though obviously no one can see her, and taps the small sensor on the side of her middle finger, which connects a tube that runs from the tip of the claw to her wrist, where the tranquiliser darts are stored.

The guards walk past the doorway on the other side of the room  - Iris shoots the first tranq and it lands perfectly in the neck of the one closest to her. As he falls, he clears the way for the guard next to him, who quickly receives the same treatment from Iris's customised finger. The more she becomes used to the specialised Jaguar costume, the more she can’t imagine how she got along without it, without Sara and Laurel and Leonard.

“Got ‘em,” she says, standing. “Now where’s the best place-”

Before she can finish the sentence, a horrific screech echoes through the earpiece, forcing her to her knee as she clutches at her head. She rips out the earpiece, gasping, and clutches in her palm so she can’t even hear the tinny echo of it.

She knows that sound. That’s Laurel and her Siren Cry, and the only reason she’d use it would be if there was a force she and Sara couldn’t contain with just their hand-to-hand combat skills. And that is a very serious force indeed. Iris takes off running, looking for the nearest staircase and skidding along the carpeted corridors.

As she climbs up the first flight of stairs, the sound of the Cry echoes down; from the pitch, Iris would guess they’re still a few flights up. She’s closing in on the sound when it suddenly cuts off. Panic rising like bile, she feels that the earpiece has stopped buzzing from noise, and she slots it back into place. “Black Siren?” she asks, desperation leaking through. “White Canary!”

Neither reply.

“Snart?” she asks, throwing open the next door onto the main floor. “Where are they?”

“I don’t…” he says, sounding tense and distracted. Then he says sharply, “Stop!”

Iris freezes mid-stride. “What is it?” She breathes. After the past year or so, she’s learned to trust whatever she’s told over comms.

“Fuck, Iris- you need to get out of there.”

“What’s happening?” she begs.

“Eobard Thawne is here. Fuck, _fuck_.” Iris has heard Leonard swear exactly once in all their acquaintance, and that was when he was hit by a car.

“Thawne?”she repeats, and that name alone is enough to make her doubt her plan of rushing in to help. Eobard Thawne _owns_ Central City and its criminal underworld. Rumour is he’s a meta-human, affected by the particle acceleration, but people have rarely seen the man himself, never mind seen his powers. "But we can’t just-"

"West," he says, his voice as cool as ever but the undercurrent of stress clear. "What exactly is your plan against the city's worst criminal overlord?"

"Fuck," she says, as she realises he's right. As much as it would be a nice gesture, if the damn Lance sisters can't get out of there, she's not going to be much help. Her voice cracks. "Are they still- are they still alive?”

“Yes, just unconscious.” His tone changes, as he must sense her distress. “They’re very capable, and they’ve been in worst situations. Sara’s already died, remember?”

She swallows. “But-”

“Just get yourself safe,” he commands. “Go home. It’s what Laurel and Sara would want.”

She takes off for the nearest exit, forced to admit that Snart is right. She can’t do anything for them now.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t help them later.

She makes it back onto the other rooftop, and finds Snart there. The helicopter is gone - when she looks questioningly at him, he shrugs. “We don’t have any loot to take away, so I had an accomplice take it away.” Before she can question that further, he adds, “Come on, let’s go get a drink before you do something stupid.”

“I...wasn’t going to,” she says, kind of lamely because her plan was to pop home, get the biggest gun she could find, and then walk around until she found them.

He just rolls his eyes and slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards the roof’s exit. Iris can’t help one last, guilt-ridden look at the building at its misleading quiet and anticlimactic darkness.

They end up in one of the shadier bar’s in town - Iris stuffs her mask and gloves in a bag and Leonard lends her his coat so they don’t look completely ridiculous. He orders them both a beer and they sit at a hidden away table.

Silence covers them both for a few moments. Iris’ mind is whirring, too sluggish from lack of sleep to make sense of anything and too hyped from adrenaline to think things through logically.

Snart takes a long swallow of his beer, and then, as he places it back on the table says, apropos of nothing, “We tried to keep you out of the shadier stuff. Didn’t talk about who gave us the tip, or who were selling to.That was a deliberate decision on our part.”

Iris can only stare at her hands, feeling very young compared to the jaded, distant gaze of Snart. She doesn’t know to react, doesn’t know whether it’s an insult or something. “I thought-” She doesn’t know how to finish. What _did_ she think? That they were a team? Equals? “Did you think I wasn’t good enough? I know I don’t have the same skills and training as you guys-”

Leonard snorts. “No. You’re plenty good, and you’ve been trained by the Lance sisters, which is worth more than thirty years of experience. If I had _my_ way, you’d be coming to the meetings with us.” He looks away. “But Sara and Laurel had this notion that you needed to be protected.”

“But-”

“Miss West,” he says, finally turning to look at her. “My point is that the Lance sisters knew what they were getting into. We didn’t let you know the risks so you wouldn’t be subjected to them. Or at least, that was the hope. Now, just go back to your reporter job, and leave the costume in the closet. Unless you want to write an article about their disappearance - including, of course, a signed confession about how you know this information - there’s nothing you can do for Sara and Laurel.”

Iris stares at her lap, letting his words sink in. But she hears the pain behind them, remembers how close he and Sara had been. She downs her drink, and stands. “You’re wrong. There is something I can do. I don’t know how yet,” she admits. “But I’m going to get them back.” She walks away, turning back a few steps away only to add, “And I’ll give you your coat back later.”

She walks through town rather than get a cab to let her mind wander with her feet. She knows her first step: research. From there, she decides, she’ll build a plan. After all, she can hardly save Sara and Laurel when she doesn’t know who and where from they need saving.

It was Sara and Laurel who helped her become something else, become the Jaguar rather than just another kid running on rooftops and through alleyways. She guesses they must have seen her as a protege of sorts, or something, after another chance encounter when they were both stealing into a trust fund baby’s manor house. The Jaguar became its own urban myth, something for Iris to write about and an invaluable source in the criminal underworld. It was Laurel and Sara who showed her the power of a costume and of an alter-ego, and the idea of abandoning them to Thawne’s mercy after all they’ve done for her makes her queasy.

She gets home and it’s nearing five in the morning; she has to go to work in just a few hours. She’s not even sure if it’s worth going to sleep, and she’s weighing up the pros and cons of just downing spoonfuls of coffee granules when the lift doors open on her floor.

She staggers out, still wearing Leonard’s coat zipped up over her costume. She toes off her boots before she goes any further, and stuffs them in her backpack - one of her neighbours likes to go for a morning jog around this time, and the boots are uniquely adjusted enough to be abnormal in the hallway lighting.

It's lucky she does this, because as she rounds the corner, fishing her keys out from her pocket, she sees there's a person sat on her doormat, resting his back against the door.

The long limbs, flannel shirt, and ruffled hair are unmistakeable.

She has to close her eyes for a second so she doesn't let out a shriek against the universe. It's difficult to believe she slept with him just a few hours ago, with all that's happened in between. She sighs, and walks closer.

He startles awake, knocking his head back against the door and blinking blearily up at her. "You're home," he says, rather stupidly.

She tilts her head. "What are you doing here?"

He scrambles to his feet. "Um." He scratches the back of his neck. "I, uh, texted you to tell me you got home safe, and you never did, so."

"Oh." She was fully prepared to be defensive, but that answer makes her fall short. She left her phone in her apartment, useless when she was using a comms unit, and she certainly wasn't expecting Barry to be awake until at least dawn.

"Have you- have you only just gotten home?" He's frowning, and examining her more closely. "Is that a man's coat?"

She crosses her arms, tugs the coat closer to her. "That's not any of your business." She regrets her tone immediately, especially at the hurt look on his features; he's only trying to make sure she's safe, after all. It's not his fault he doesn't know how capable she is, and how walking home late at night is the least of her worries. She amends, "Sorry. That wasn't- it's been a stressful night. I know we need to talk, but I just can't-" To her horror, her voice breaks.

Immediately, Barry's arms are around her and she falls into him, partly into his warmth and partly because she's struggling to stand at this point. "What happened?" he asks quietly.

She can't tell him the whole truth, obviously, no matter how much she wants to. "Two of my friends are missing," she eventually says.

His arms tighten around him. "Have you reported them to the police?"

Of course Barry, Crime Scene Investigator and CCPD employee, thinks straight of the police. And of course Iris would like it to be that simple, would like to hand off the responsibility and have all the documents to prove it.

She shakes her head. "I can't."

She was expecting more questions, but he just holds her, doesn't even make another sound. He must be tired as well, and his back and neck must be stiff from sleeping against the door for however many hours. But he's as steady as a rock, and all she wants to do is fall asleep in his arms again.

Which is ridiculous, because dating Barry would be an awful idea, and so would keeping them in this limbo between friendship and sex. Having any relationship would be idiotic, especially with someone like Barry, her brother’s friend of all people. The thought is what gives her the strength to pull away from him, and run a hand through her hair. She's just about brave enough to say the words themselves, but she looks at her feet as she says, "Listen, Barry, about tonight-"

"It's fine," he says and steps away from her door. He smiles, a touch ruefully. "I got your text. You said from the start that it was probably a bad idea, right?"

"Right," she repeats, relieved. "Thanks for understanding."

"Seriously, don't worry about it." The corners of his lips turn up. "And I agree, we should definitely never tell Wally about this."

She watches him leave, and decides that she definitely has made the right decision, even if there’s an oddly sour feeling in her stomach. It would be impossible to have a relationship and a secret identity at the same time. And anyway, as proven by the kindness and dignity of that conversation, he's far too good for her and all her fucked-up-ness.

She gets into her apartment and immediately flops into bed, shucking her clothes and sinking into her bed sheets. The thought of calling in sick to work is tempting, but she doesn't want to risk it in case she really does injure herself - she's been lucky so far that she hasn't had an unexplained black eye or broken fingers. It's only now, with Snart's words still ringing in her ears, that she realises that maybe it wasn't luck, but rather Lance supervision.

 

She manages to survive the morning at work with a _lot_ of coffee. She manages to lie cohesively about Wally’s play when Mason asks, though luckily he’s the one to mention the title she used last night, because she doesn’t have the foggiest idea. Her dad texts to ask if she wants to get lunch, but she declines in favour of dashing to Jitters and grabbing a superfood salad and a triple-shot vanilla latte. The late junk food she ate last night, combined with all the rooftop-jumping and running about, means her stomach is still a little tender.

She still manages to finish her article for the website by two in the afternoon. Usually she’d start on the next one, but instead she makes use of Central City Picture News’ firewalls and IP addresses to start researching. The first thing she does is pull up all the articles and police reports about Thawne, trying to pinpoint when his reign and power really begun. The earliest article she can find on him was a few months after the particle acceleration incident, which probably confirms the theory about him being a meta-human.

Another link appears, on the search browser. She’s just clicking on it and frowning at the information when she feels the sensation of someone close. She spins in her office chair and comes face to face with Mason, who’s leaning over and squinting at her screen. (At the office, all screens face outward - Mason claims this is so it’s an open atmosphere that encourages teamwork, but everyone knows it’s because Rory, Linda’s predecessor, used to watch porn using the company broadband.)

“What are you looking at?” He’s frowning. “You know we don’t encourage personal research in office hours. Is this part of a new story?”

“Yes,” Iris lies, instinctively.

Because on her computer screen is the homepage for Thawne Manor Hotel, located in a hundred miles out of Central City’s borders, which apparently includes spa options, luxurious rooms, and holiday bookings.

He raises an eyebrow, and she’s forced to explain that she has an anonymous source (i.e what she saw with her own eyes and heard with her own ears) has given her new information about the illegal activities of Eobard Thawne. Mason lets out a low whistle. “That could be a big story, West.”

This could actually be the perfect opportunity - if Iris could do what she was going to do anyway under the guise of investigative reporter, she could get more time and resources, both of which she’s in desperate need of.

“I’d really like to pursue this,” she says, trying to remain professional about it. But when Mason still looks hesitant, she goes for broke. “Please, Mason. I really care about this story, and I know I can do it justice.”

He exhales. "Okay. But I'll make the calls. That place is expensive, I'll call in some favours to see if I can get you there for this weekend."

It's Thursday now, so that would be ideal. Iris almost can't believe her good fortune. "Thank you, Mason," she settles for. "I won't let you down."

Of course, she could end up dead trying to save criminals, so maybe that's a bit of a rash promise. He nods at her, and then moves on to the next reporter to supervise.

She clicks around the website for a little longer, collecting a file and making notes in her notebook. Thawne owns several legal enterprises, such as the hotel, but has been linked to politician corruption and drug trafficking. Of course, it was always his employees who took the fall, and his lawyers were too good for him to even pick up a parking ticket. She goes on his twitter, and most of it's dry stuff, endorsing mayors and advertising his investments. But as she's on his page, a new tweet pops off, and she quickly looks at it:

 

> @EobardThawneCorporation: excited 2 stay in my own hotel this week w/ business meetings in my specially-designed conference rooms. Make sure you change the sheets! lol

She can't believe her luck. Thawne himself will be at the hotel. If Mason can get her the booking, she has a real chance to at least find out where Laurel and Sara are. Or, the darker thought in her mind suggests, she has a real chance to avenge them. Snart had messaged her earlier in the morning promising to keep her informed of anything he heard, but not to expect anything else from him.

Before she can spiral into plans on capturing Thawne or getting him alone, she gets an email from Mason, calling her to his office. She steps inside, shutting the door behind her. “Any news?” she asks.

“I have some bad news, and some good,” he says as he gestures her in. "Now, there weren't any single rooms left, and as I'm sure you know, Thawne's staying in the penthouse."

"Oh," says Iris, though Mason's tone confuses her and halts her crushing disappointment. She replays his sentence. "You said there aren't any single rooms? Do you want me to pay for a double? I understand if the paper can't afford-"

"No, no, that's not really the issue. Or, well, not an issue, per say, because it's all worked out rather nicely-" He visibly stops himself from rambling, and says, "We've got you a slot on the couple's retreat."

Iris finds herself waiting for the punchline. When it doesn't follow, she raises her eyebrows, and asks, "Sorry, what?"

"My first question is, do you have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?" he asks, ignoring her.

"No," she says. "But-"

"Okay, that actually works well for us."

"It does?" She can't help but be sceptical, even as she processes the fact. "You don't think I need to be part of a couple to go on a _couple's_ retreat _?_ "

"Well, here's the thing. You know I care about my reporters, and the thought of sending you to investigate Thawne by yourself, especially when he's actually there in the hotel, made me a little uneasy." He holds up a hand to halt her as she opens her mouth to protest. "I know, I know, I'm sure you're very capable. But, well, I talked to the police, just in case."

Iris thinks she actually sees her life flash before her eyes. She's surprised Joe hasn't turned up already to lock her up in a padded tower. "Oh god.”

"Don't worry, I managed to talk down your father." That, Iris severely doubts. It must show on her face, because he amends, "Okay, Captain Singh managed to talk down your father.”

“So I need to find someone to go with me?” She starts frantically thinking through her, admittedly short, close friend list. She’d ask Linda, but she remembers her saying something about a booked trip with Wally this weekend.

“No,” he assures her. “That’s been handled.”

“It has?”

“Captain Singh and I talked, and we agreed you should take a police escort."

"Oh." She's already mentally running through the officers in her dad's precinct, trying to think who is the least likely to get in her way or interfere.

She's ticking off names as he continues, "And they decided on an officer. I don't actually recall the name, but even your father seemed reassured by him."

"Really?" Iris is definitely in disbelief now. Sure, her dad respects his colleagues, but he also went to Wally's school dance because he decided the parent chaperones who had already volunteered didn't have enough training in hostage negotiation.

"It's all very above board. Of course, not many people know about it for safety purposes, but you'll get to keep your own name, which will be easier." He shrugs. “Apparently they already have an open investigation on the hotel as a tax front, so it works for them as well.”

Okay, Iris can make this work. The fact that she’s getting a free and official trip right to Thawne’s front door is pretty fantastic, to be honest, and she can easily ditch whatever officer they assign to her.

This is going to be good.

“Oh!” Mason clicks his fingers as a thought strikes him. “I remember the name of the officer now. Barry Allen, maybe?”

This is going to be _terrible_.

 


	2. Chapter Two

It’s silent and painfully awkward in the car. They’re in Barry’s car, so he’s driving. It  _ shouldn’t _ be awkward, because they’re both adults, and they’ve been friends for twenty years, for god’s sake. They have a playlist on each of their phones for long drives exactly like this. 

But all Iris can do is twiddle her fucking thumbs and watch the countdown to their destination loaded on the sat nav. 

She presses her lips together and just goes for broke. She needs things to be amicable, at least, if she wants to gain his trust enough to be able to sneak off. She has as much of her Jaguar equipment as she could reasonably fit in her suitcase, and even then Barry had made a joke about the fact they were only going for three days. “So, Wally and Linda are going on a trip as well this week. You know where they’re going?” Barry makes a noncommittal noise, which, come on, she’s trying here. She sighs and tries again. “You want to play I-Spy?”

He gives her a side-eye. “Not really.”

She folds her arms. “You’re not giving me much to go with.”

He winces. “Sorry. I- it’s weird.”

Guilt makes her stomach curl. “Yeah.” Then she has an idea. “Let’s do an Awkward Trade.”

That forces a laugh out of him. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

‘Awkward Trade’ was something Barry and Iris had designed themselves when they were younger: it was born when Barry had accidentally walked in on Iris in the shower, and they’d avoided each other for at least a month until Iris had enough. She waited until Barry was having a shower himself at their house, and deliberately walked in, shouted, “Now  _ this _ is awkward!” and walked back out. Since then, any awkward situation, such as sitting in the lounge while Wally...entertained his very loud first girlfriend, or having to sleep in the same bed for a night when they’d accidentally tied their hands together and weren’t yet old enough to know where the scissors were, could be efficiently resolved. The purpose of the game was to, essentially, up the ante: replace the awkward tension which something ridiculous that overshadowed everything else. 

“You agree to the established rules?” Iris says, just happy to get Barry smiling. 

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Sure, but there’s no way you’re going to be able to top this.”

“I’ve been saving a trump card,” she assures him.

He glances at her suspiciously. “Really? You were prepared to beat sleeping with each other and then being forced to pretend to be a couple for work?”

“Well,” she allows. “Not specifically for this situation, no.”

“Okay then,” he says, flexing his hands on the wheel. “Hit me with it.”

She pauses for dramatic effect. “Imagine: Wally and Linda having sex.”

There’s a brief silence as he visibly mulls it over, and then he shakes his head. “Nope, not good enough.”

“What?” she protests. “But that’s a terrible mental image!”

“Because he’s  _ your _ brother,” he points out. “Wally and Linda are just two of my mutual, adult friends.”

She frowns. “Didn’t you go on a date with Linda once?”

He colours a little. “That- that was barely a thing.”

She hides her smile, because they’re talking at least, and that means her trump card  _ did _ work, no matter what Barry might say. “So, what did you have to do to get put on protection duty?” Iris asks, teasingly, nudging his side with her elbow, because there’s no way he would want this job after recent events. 

But Barry has always managed to surprise her. He looks out the window, before admitting, “I, uh, actually volunteered.”

“What?” She can’t even filter her reaction, she’s so shocked. She just figured it was some kind of karmic luck.

“Well, um.” His gaze darts guiltily to her surprised expression and away again. He uses a joking tone to explain, “I mean, Wally would kill me if I let his sister face criminal overlords without at least pretending I was capable back-up.” 

That breaks Iris from the spell, jolting a laugh from her. “Okay, that I believe.”

He licks his lips; for some reason, he seems a little nervous. “Right. Well-”

But their car rounds the corner and whatever Barry was about to say is lost in their combined awe as the mansion and its grounds come into view. The building is huge, with a long, winding gravel drive leading up to it and more windows than Iris could count in a lifetime. The gate itself looks worth enough to make up Iris’ college debts, and she thinks she actually sees peacocks just strutting casually on the lawns. They park just in front of the gates, and Iris fumbles for the documents they’d been sent, informing them about their visit. She hadn’t had the courage to go through all the couple’s retreat activities - she’d been mostly hoping she’d be able to avoid most of them, anyway. 

The speaker crackles to life. “Hello, this is Thawne Manor Hotel. How can I help you?”

Barry quickly pulls his window down, and leans out to say, “Uh, it’s Barry Allen and Iris West. For the couple’s retreat? Um. Because we’re a couple.” Iris bites back a smile. How Barry managed to convince her dad and Captain Singh that he was qualified for undercover work will always be a mystery to her. 

There’s a moment of silence, as the receptionist clearly checks his records, and then the gates whir open. Barry leans back into the car and they begin the drive up the gravel. There’s people wandering around, so Iris feels a little less like she’s in some regency novel when she sees modern suitcases and clothes. There’s a class doing yoga on the lawn, and a sign proclaims the hotel as a five star.

They park, and get their suitcases out from the boot. Just before they walk towards the luxurious reception, Barry catches Iris by the elbow. “Hey,” he says quietly. “No matter what happens, I’ll keep you safe, okay?”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, how to reply to the sincerity in Barry’s eyes or the way his expression urges her to believe him. She has no doubt that he’d be able to keep the average investigative reporter safe, but he doesn’t know about the real reason she’s here, and he doesn’t know what she’s trying to pull off. 

“I know,” she says, instead of everything she wants to say.

They lift their suitcases up the steps. An actual bluebird lands on one of the balustrades as they walk up, which is just aggravating, really. She has to keep reminding herself that this is a criminal hub, and her friends are in danger, rather than some kind of fairytale hotel. The reception itself is huge, with marble and glossy hardwood and the clack of expensive shoes. Iris hoists her bag further up her shoulder, feeling kind of small. This is the kind of place she would  _ definitely _ steal from, not stay in. 

They're walking towards the reception desk when a man suddenly launches themselves at them. Both Barry and Iris flinch; Iris actually raises her hands in a self-defence position before she can assess that the man is clearly harmless. 

"Hello!" he crows. "Barry and Iris! Or as you're named in my file, Bearis!"

Barry blinks. "What?"

"It's your couple name," he beams, a Southern accent twanging his vowels as he clasps his hands together. He's about the same height as Iris, and therefore at least a head or so shorter than Barry. His blond hair is coiffed and perfectly styled above a kind enough looking face, with round cheeks and chocolate eyes. He looks around mid-thirties, though perhaps with the help of some anti-ageing products. "You'll get used to it. Now, dump your bags there and then follow me - we're about to start the first activity! It's a fun ice breaker I'm sure you'll both enjoy."

Iris pulls a theatrical face. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry, we were just going to go freshen up, you know how long drives are-"

"Nonsense," he demands, actually linking his arm through hers. "You look gorgeous to me. And believe me, I've done this a long time. I know people are always a little hesitant at first, but you've just got to jump straight in."

He starts dragging her away, and Iris has no choice but to leave her bags with the bellboys who emerge from seemingly nowhere. Barry bemusedly follows her. It’s probably not a good sign for their mission that they can be so easily corralled by Southern aggressive politeness. 

He leads them through a few corridors of the hotel, all plush carpets and oil paintings on the walls, and into a room that looks like something on  _ Downton Abbey  _ or something. Iris looks around the room as the guy finally lets her go, walking towards the fireplace at the end of the room, parallel to the huge oak table that stretches almost across the room. There's about sixteen, seventeen people in the room, and Iris washes her gaze over them, taking in faces and-

Why is her little brother and his girlfriend here?

Wally and Iris lock eyes across the room, both as surprised as the other. Linda follows her boyfriend's gaze and her mouth falls comically open at the sight of Iris and Barry awkwardly standing there. 

"Oh,  _ fuck _ ," Barry and Iris breathe in unison. 

Linda looks like she's about to burst with excitement; whether that's at the idea of Barry and Iris dating (oddly, she's always pestered Iris about him for some reason), the fact that they're here at this retreat as well, or just that she has the uninhibited opportunity to make fun of them for a whole weekend, Iris can't tell. She looks like she’s about to dart round the table, but the man from reception claps his hands together, effectively gaining everyone's attention. 

"Please, everyone take a seat." 

Linda obviously looks like she's about to force her way into a seat next to Iris, but Wally keeps hold of her hand and drags her to the nearest seat. It's still almost directly opposite Iris, though, who has to work to keep her gaze facing the head of the table and ignore Linda's increasingly unsubtle attempts to grab her attention. 

"Now, my name is Basil Worthington," the man introduces, standing behind his chair as everyone is seated. "But you go ahead and call me Basil. This retreat is all about comfort and intimacy, and that means we all need to be comfortable with each other.  That's why I've chosen this activity as your ice breaker. It’s called: Couple Compliment Time!”

Just as he says that, Linda decides to actually kick Iris to gain her attention. Except she misses, and manages to hit Barry in the shin, promptly forcing a loud yelp from him. 

Everyone turns to look at him, and Iris has to clamp her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing out loud as Barry slowly turns scarlet. 

“Um, sorry,”  he says. “I, uh, hit my leg on the chair.” 

Basil tilts his head. "Right. Well, why don't you start us off, Barry?"

Barry raises his eyebrows. "Um, sorry, I don't know-"

"Firstly, introduce yourself to the group."

Basil waits pointedly until Barry can't do anything else: he looks around the table, nodding in greeting infrequently, and says, "I'm Barry Allen."

"And introduce your partner." At Barry's continued confusion, Basil gestures with a quick dart of his chin to Iris. 

"Oh!" Barry's expression clears. "Right. This is my- my girlfriend, Iris West." He stumbles over the 'girlfriend' part, and to be honest, it sends a shock through Iris as well. 

"Now compliment her. Remember, folks, this has to be a personal and unique compliment. Don't just give me some lame adjectives, you need to really think about it." Basil smiles. "No pressure, Barry."

"Right," Barry says, looking a little panicked and very much under pressure. But he looks at Iris, and his eyes soften. She must not have given him enough credit for his undercover abilities, because that no one could fault that expression. "Iris has the best smile I've ever seen. When she smiles, you can't help but smile with her."

Well, shit.

"Now it's your turn, Iris."

Barry's looking at her like he knows he's won, and Iris' mind is whirring in a useless loop after that. She swallows. "Right. Well, my name's Iris West, and this is my- my Barry." 

Basil's brow rises and Iris can actually feel the judgement oozing from him. " _ Your _ Barry?"

"Yes," she replies confidently, as if she meant to say that rather than her tongue feeling stunted. "My Barry."

"Hm," he says, and she just knows that he's filing this all away to bite her in the ass soon enough. "Okay, carry on, then. Compliment him in return."

"Right." She tries to think of anything that isn't general enough for Basil, but isn't specific enough that Linda, who is watching them like a victorious hawk, is going to remind her of it forever. "Barry is, um, really funny?"

Basil only tilts his head skeptically. She thinks she's beginning to understand why he has this job; she's already desperate for him not to find her relationship a failure, and it's not even a real one. 

She racks her brain. This is horrifically embarrassing, and it's only giving more time for the other couples to practise what they're going to say.  With pressure building in her head, she blurts out, without even really thinking it through, "He's passionate. About everything. And, uh, that makes me want to care too."

It's true. Iris has never cared about TV shows the same way Barry has, will just change channels if something happens she doesn't like whilst Barry would probably write an angry email. She only managed going vegetarian for six months whereas Barry taught himself Javascript in high school. The only time she's come close is with her drive for a journalism career, but he's just as ambitious as a CSI. 

Basil gives her a rewarding nod, and then moves on to the woman and her girlfriend next to Iris. "Tamara, your turn."

Iris can't bear to look at Barry, feels uncomfortable with her performance. She half-listens to the couples, only really paying attention when it comes to Linda and Wally, who, of course, give perfect responses. Linda compliments Wally's ability to always cheer her up, and Wally compliments her attention to detail. Iris tries to be happy for their perfect relationship, she really does, but ends up settling for just refraining from scowling at them. 

Basil seems pleased, at least, despite the final couple making some weirdly passive aggressive comments to each other (“He’s just so close to his mother!”). He claps his hands together yet again. “Good work, everyone. Now, we’re going to continue this mingling.”

Iris know she has to play along, no matter how little she wants to. Who knows who’s reporting back to Thawne? Even Basil could be one of his cronies. She looks him over, inspecting his bow tie and the way he’s talking about ‘group cohesiveness’ and ‘creating intimacy’, and probably decides that he isn’t. But still, she has to blend in to maintain her cover. As much as she just wants to race out of this stupid icebreaker to find Sara and Laurel, she knows she can’t. 

“Now we encourage you  to split up as couples and make a pair with someone else-”

“Dibs!” Linda says, rather too loudly, pointing at Iris. 

Basil frowns, and obviously knows there’s something up. But he shrugs, and says, “Alright. Shuffle the seats and make a new friend!”

Linda speeds around the table and taps at Barry impatiently until he says, “Alright! I’m going, I’m going,” and wanders around to Wally. 

As soon as everyone’s settled and talking to their new neighbours, Linda smacks at Iris’ arm. “Oh my god. Tell me  _ everything _ .” 

Iris looks around to check no one’s listening, and then leans closer. “It’s not what you think.”

“Does that mean you haven’t finally realised your feelings for Barry and started tapping that?” Linda waggles her eyebrows. 

Iris rolls her eyes. “No, it means we’re undercover.”

Linda looks unimpressed. “Yeah, right. If you’re trying to keep it a secret, me and Wally won’t tell anyone.”

“No, I swear.” Iris tilts her head to the opposite side of the table and continues in a whisper. “You can ask Barry, if you want, he’ll say the same thing. Mason let me come here to investigate Eobard Thawne.”

“Thawne?” Linda repeats in a hiss. She looks at Barry and Wally, who look back. Iris frowns as she sees Wally shake his head at Linda, obviously having heard the same news. But Iris can’t figure out why he looks just as disappointed as Linda is - she was assuming he would find even the suggestion repulsive.  “Is that why Barry’s here?”

“Yeah.” Iris doesn’t want to tell her that Barry volunteered, knows that she’s going to interpret it as something she’s not. “He’s my police escort.” 

“Fuck, Iris.” Linda shakes her head. “That’s dangerous. Promise me you’ll be careful.” 

Even Linda doesn’t know the truth about Iris’s secret identity, and it’s moment like these when Iris regrets it, when she wishes she could ask for Linda’s help. Iris can’t help but wonder if her friend knew about her other identity, whether she’d believe her capable or just wouldn’t care about a supervillain’s safety. She pulls herself out of that spiral, and asks, “Anyway, what are you two doing here? Neither of you have said anything to me about any problems.” She starts worrying whether neither feel they can trust her, and she resolves to make sure she’s more involved in both their lives. 

Linda waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, Wally just got a free voucher from a magazine and we thought we’d come and beat all the other couples.”

Iris laughs. “It’s not supposed to be a competition.”

“Sure, sure,” Linda placates. Then she winks. “But Wally and I are still going to boss it. We were revising each other’s favourite things on the drive up.”

Iris doesn’t know what to say to that, mostly because she’s now worrying she and Barry should have been revising, but she’s saved by Basil calling out into the murmuring group, “Okay, now everyone switch seats again!”

She ends up sitting next to one third of a polyamorous relationship: she listens as Sandra explains how Rahul’s commitment issues are affecting both Lewis and Sandra herself, who both want the relationship to move forward. “Like, Lewis and I are looking at this gorgeous set of three rings online? But we know that we can’t even bring it up, can’t even joke about it.” She sighs with her whole body, shoulders deflating and nostrils loud. 

“That sounds tough,” Iris tries. 

“Yeah, well, at least we got him to agree to come with us here, That’s a start,” she sighs. “Anyway, what about you?”

“What about me?”

Sandra laughs. “Why are you and Barry here? I hope you don’t mind me saying, but Barry seems pretty obviously besotted with you.”

Yet again, Iris silently curses Barry’s apparent innate acting talent, and her own deep-set reluctance to discuss anything personal, especially to a stranger. “Well,” she says, because clearly she’s just going to have to take one for the team here. “It’s me, really. I’m, uh, holding the relationship back.”

Sandra winces. “Oh, honey. What is it? Intimacy issues? Faithfulness? Sexual problems?”

“Intimacy issues,” Iris says quickly, because she just wants Sandra to stop suggesting Iris’ possible shortcomings, and also because she figures she can just stick with that one without having to go into too much detail. 

Basil demands they switch again before Iris has to expand on that, fortunately, and Iris gets to meet Keith, who’s still upset about his wife’s affair three years ago, and then they switch again and Iris meets Adam, who thinks his husband Paul spends too much time at work. By the time Iris makes it back to her original seat, almost an hour later, she’s met at least one member of each of the eight relationships there, and feels a little exhausted from it all. She’s been working on her story though, through necessity of having to repeat it each time. 

Finally,  _ finally _ , Basil announces to the group, “That’s an excellent start, everybody. Now I’ll let you go back up to your rooms and freshen up. The next activity starts in one hour - make sure you wear sensible footwear!” 

Iris doesn’t know what that’s foreshadowing, but she’s just relieved she can get some privacy. She and Barry say a brief goodbye to Wally and Linda at the elevator, who are a few floors below them, and silently get to their room. The keycode for the room is on their booking details, and they quickly slip inside, stopping at the sight that greets them. 

The double bed seems to take up the entire room, which has clearly been designed for couples. Iris feels a little intimidated by the fake rose petals on the four-post bed, and there’s even a little oil painting, which is abstract but  _ definitely _ of people fucking. Barry coughs into his hand. “Uh, I could sleep on the floor.”

“No, don’t be silly,” Iris says, because as much as she doesn’t want to share an aggressively sexual bed, the idea of Barry toughing it out on the hard carpet is ridiculous. “I’m just going to check my make-up.”

Her eyeliner is fine, but she shuts the bathroom door behind her and just leans on the counter for a second. She dabs cold water on her wrists, and tries to fight the ever-growing dread filling her stomach. In the car ride, she felt like she and Barry were at a place where this would be easy. But under the intense scrutiny of Basil, and the compliment that came out of Barry’s mouth, she’s feeling a little unprepared. 

She walks out to see Barry brushing off the rose petals, and is at least gratified that he’s finding the whole thing as awful as she is. He gives her a weak smile. “I kind of want to get the bed tested for an STD,” he offers. 

She plays along, gingerly prodding the mattress. “Just one?” she asks. 

“Probably more,” he allows. 

Their bags are in the room, and from an initial lookover, Iris can’t see anything wrong with them, and her padlock on the zip is still secure. She sits herself on the edge of the bed, regardless of STD allegations, and folds her hands between her thighs. She’s debating whether it would be better for her to have a nap or food before she has to face Basil and his army of broken relationships when Barry sits next to her, close enough to make her instinctively flinch. 

“Okay,  _ that _ ,” Barry says, referencing to her movement. “Right there is probably going to sell us out. Is it really that bad pretending to be in a relationship with me?”

“No,” she says, though it sounds a little hollow. She swallows. “I mean, okay, it’s a little weirder than I thought it would be. This whole place, and having to talk about our damn  _ feelings _ all the time, in front of people we don’t know!”

Barry seems to think about it. “Alright. Well, what if we practise here, without all those people we don’t know?”

“What do you mean?” Iris frowns, though she can guess. 

“Come on.” He stands, and waits with a hand outstretched for her to copy him. She looks up, and however much she might hate this farce, if Barry’s trying, she has to try as well. She takes his hand, and stands. “There. That wasn’t so bad. Look, we’re holding hands!” He slides his fingers between hers and then waves their interlocked palms a little, making her laugh. 

“Okay, okay,” she says. “Good practice.”

She knows she’s being daft, especially when they’ve already had sex. But she hasn’t dated for  _ so long _ , barely a one night stand here and there since before her mom and before becoming the Jaguar, that she’s forgotten how to even pretend. She can’t remember what casual physical comfort looks like, never mind how to replicate it. 

“Uh huh. Now the other hand.” She twists her lips at his placating tone, but obediently slots her hand in his other one, so now they’re facing each other. Barry smiles, wide enough to make his eyes crinkle and his dimples show. “Atta girl.”

She tries to elbow him, but with his hands gripping hers, the best she can do is kind of twist and do a chicken-dance-like movement while he shakes with pealing laughter. 

“Okay,” he says when she’s calmed back down. “Now, kiss me.”

She freezes. “What?”

He smiles again, though for some reason, it doesn’t match his eyes this time. “You’ve done it before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” she says, because after all, she was the one to initiate the kiss the first time. “And we need to look natural in front of everyone else.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Doesn’t mean anything, right?”

“Right,” she says, even though that’s kind of the part she’s struggling with. So she slowly lifts her hands out of Barry’s, and reaches up to rest them on his shoulders. At least this time, her boots are high-heeled, and she doesn’t have to stretch as far to reach him (he still has to bend down a little, though). Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and Barry’s eyes track the movement, reminding Iris with a thrill of the other night. 

Now or never, she thinks, and she leans in, pressing her lips to his. His hands curl around her back to hold her close, and she finds herself getting lost in the movement of his mouth. In all that’s happened in the past few days, she must have underestimated his talent, because she’s finding it a little hard to pull away. But she manages to, after a few moments, and she takes a step back. 

“Right,” she says again, a little croakily. She clears her throat. 

“Good practice,” he says again, and he smiles, casually, like that hasn’t frazzled Iris’ mind a little. 

She needs to pull herself together - clearly she needs to start dating more, if all it takes these days to get her flustered is a kiss in the daytime. 

“I’m going to grab some food from downstairs, I think I saw a cafe or something,” Barry says. “You want anything?”

She shakes her head mutely, and watches him leave. She sits back down on the bed, feeling as if something’s shifted, but she doesn’t know what it is. She gives herself a mental shake, and her gaze flitters over her suitcase. The black case acts as a sobering reminder of what she’s really here to do: she checks her watch. Barry will be at least ten minutes, but she can always make an excuse about going to try and find him if he comes back and she’s not here. That gives her a good forty minutes to explore - she bets she could get into a staff only section in that time. 

She grabs a more formal jacket and a simply white shirt from her suitcase, quickly putting them on over her already-useful black skirt. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail, and checks herself over in the floor length mirror by the door; non-descript and formal. Perfect. She makes her way down the stairs, hoping Barry will use the lift. It’s not like she’s deliberately excluding him from this, but she’s grown up with him, and all the gangliness does not exactly lend itself to subtlety and grace. 

She slips away from the main corridor and follows a kitchen staff member towards the back end of the hotel. She sees a hostess dressed pretty similarly to Iris, if she shucks the jacket. She stows the clothing behind a large stand-up poster, and then drifts into the kitchen. Kitchen staff are usually the best source, if she can get them to talk. She imagines Thawne runs a pretty tight ship here, and tipping off the wrong people could be a disaster. She ducks and weaves through the busy kitchen (she probably should have come after the lunch rush, but the flurry of movement andd people helps her to blend in). No-one seems able to stop and talk, so she slips out another door that leads to the food storage. This is a big enough place to have its food deliveries come by the truck load, so there should be- 

There. A door from the storage to the outside. As she passes through the aisles of shelves, she checks around just in case there’s contraband hidden with the mangoes, but to no avail. She’s just looking through a cardboard box full of small receipts when she hears voices. She freezes, crouched down by the very bottom shelf and by a wall. She’s completely trapped in.

Then the voices come a little closer, and she can hear what they’re saying. she pulls out her small notepad from where it’s tucked into her skirt, and a pen, and begins to write some of it down. They sound like big guys, and her interest is definitely peaked when one of them says something about ‘the blonde one being a bitch’. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve heard rumours about her,” the other replies. “Some say she died once.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Nah, I swear.” 

That’s definitely Sara - her resurrection is a myth well repeated in underground circles. Iris feels her spirits elate - Sara and Laurel are still alive! They’re being kept her somewhere. She doesn’t write that down, doesn’t want the physical evidence. But then the men continue: 

“Do they have any powers?”

“Not once we took away their equipment. They’ll be fine where they are, Thawne isn’t worried about them when we’ve got the meeting tomorrow night.”

Iris definitely writes  _ that _ down. She tries to keep listening, but they walk further away until she hears the door opening and sees the stream of daylight strobe across the floor. The door closes behind them and she doesn’t waste any time scrambling to her feet and running to the door. It’s not locked, luckily, and she opens it just a smidge to watch the two men walk towards the woods at the back of the manor. She knows Thawne owns acres even around the manor, but now at least she has a direction to start searching in. 

She closes the door again, a sense of satisfaction and hope coursing through her. Then she checks her watch and lets out a curse her father would be ashamed of her for. She practically runs all the way back to the room, managing to get the keycode wrong twice in her haste. She quickly pulls on the clothes she was wearing earlier, (and only remembers to check the room is empty  _ after _ taking her shirt off) and then runs out again. 

She reaches the dining room and slows to a walk just before entering, smoothing back down her hair and trying to appear casual, like she hadn’t just been sprinting down five flights of stairs. 

Barry’s already there, giving her a funny look. She walks over to him, ignoring the suspicious glance of Venus (wife of Marco, whom she believes has given up caring about his weight and their relationship after his retirement). 

Sh’e obviously missed the briefing, as she watches the four or so bellboys walk in, all carrying backpacks. Each bag is the same, and everyone in the group is handed one. Iris quickly opens hers to find a flashlight, water bottle, lunch pack, and compass. There's also a small emergency medical kit, and Iris can't help but agree when Ursula whispers to her partner, "What the fuck?"

Basil looks too excited for what his next words deserve: "We're going on a hiking trip!"

 

There is a small woodland area a quarter-mile behind behind the manor, all owned by Thawne. It’s hilly enough to be a little bit of a challenge, but not so much that it becomes difficult. This is all explained by Basil, as they set off like a school-trip, who adds that, “Remember, your partner is there to support you! Physical activity is good for accessing your inner strengths and weaknesses!” But all Iris can think is that this is a massive waste of time. 

She and Barry walk with Wally and Linda, and just minutes past the threshold of the woodland, they share a look. Linda turns to Barry, and asks sweetly ( _ too _ sweetly) about how his work has been. Wally takes the opportunity to slow his speed just enough to walk beside Iris. Iris fights the urge to roll her eyes - super spy dream team, they are not. 

“What’s up?” she asks, pitching her voice low because Basil’s now talking about making sure they truly appreciate the nature around them to appreciate the natural elements of their relationships. 

“What is going on with you and Barry?” he cuts straight to the point.

“He told you-”

“No, he told me about the…” he looks around and then whispers, “The undercover part. Which I’m still wrapping my head around. But something’s weird between you two.”

Iris keeps her gaze focussed straight ahead, desperately trying to control her blush response. “No, there’s not. It’s just weird pretending to be a couple.” She laughs, but it sounds fake even to her. “I mean, come on, Barry and I, dating?”

Wally makes a little humming sound. “Nah, you wouldn’t be like this if you were pretending to date Linda or something. Don’t lie to me, I know you both too well.”

Iris sighs, scraping a hand through her hair. He was always going to find out eventually - she doesn’t know how she thought she and Barry would be able to keep it from the person who knows them both best. She takes a deep breath, exhales. “Barry and I slept together.”

Wally raises his eyebrows. Both Barry and Linda turn around like a flash; Barry looks wounded at her breaking their agreement, while Linda looks positively ecstatic. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god. You guys screwed? I knew it, I-” Linda abruptly seems to realise everyone is now looking at them because of her outburst, and coughs. “Um, I am surprised by this information because… I thought you guys were waiting until marriage.”

Iris most certainly does not appreciate the snort of disbelief from Venus. 

Basil raises a single eyebrow, but says to the rest of the group, “Come along now! I’m very pleased you’re all treating this as a safe space, and you know I want y’all to get along. But we’ve got a destination to get to! Let’s carry on now!”

“When did this happen?” Wally asks, looking slightly pained. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Iris says, which oddly makes Wally’s gaze dart to Barry. “It just happened, a couple of days ago.” 

“Wow,” Wally says. “Yeah, okay, I can see how this might be strange for you two.”

Basil coughs loudly just as Linda opens her mouth to presumably ask more questions. She ignores him to point at Iris. “We’re talking about this later.”

Well, now Iris is even more desperate to get away from the group. To be honest, being in this woodland could be a perfect opportunity - she doubted from the start that Thawne is dumb enough to hold Laurel and Sara in the actual manor, and the woodland would provide a perfect cover, or at least camouflage for a secret route. 

She sees the perfect opportunity to do some exploring of her own a few moments later. Barry is talking to Wally and Linda, and she subtly slinks back so she’s walking a few steps behind. She starts talking to Marco, who’s apparently struck up a friendship with Jessica over a love for  _ Hell’s Kitchen,  _ so when Barry does inevitable notice her gone and look around for her, he sees her safely talking a foot away. No plans to escape here, no siree. 

As there comes a fork in the path (one way looks safe and well-trodden, while the other on the right has a battered  ‘no entry’ sign nearly hidden behind an extending tree), Iris falls back again, behind Marco and Jessica, so she’s at the very end of the group. Basil’s whittling away about group dynamics bringing out the best in the individual, so she slips away unnoticed, and starts walking down the other path.

As she walks, she can’t help but feel exposed, so she turns right again to walk parallel to the path, but shielded by shrubbery and trees. She’s just going on surveillance, since Basil’s little kit handed out to everyone might be useful if someone sprains their ankle, but probably won’t be much use against one of the scariest super-villains ever. 

She’s just wishing she’d listened to Basil’s advice and worn more practical shoes than her knee-high boots when something catches her eye across the path. She frowns, and steps towards it. She jolts at the sound of lightning crackling, but when she looks up, the sky is still clear. She steps out of the forest and onto the path, walking towards the small object nestled underneath a shrub. 

“Iris!” She turns to see Barry suddenly there, jogging up to her. He spreads his arms in his frustration. “What are you doing? You can’t just run off like that!”

She ignores him, though a small part of her does wonder how he found her so quickly. She crouches and lifts the little object into her hands, heart thudding in her ears. It’s Laurel’s Canary Cry. 

“What is that?” he asks as she obviously isn’t responding to his frustration. 

“Black Siren,” she says softly. 

He’s not an idiot, she could never fault him for that. He sees the way she cradles the customised choker, and hears the way she says the name. “You knew her?” She doesn’t answer, too busy battling both hope and fear in her mind, and he pieces more together. “Is she- is she your anonymous source? Were you  _ friends _ ?”

She nods, too worried about what the discarded weapon means. 

“Are you kidding me?” He sounds angry, to a point she’s rarely seen. “Iris, that is so unbelievably dangerous. And stupid! What, are you BFFs with criminals now?”

She’s feeling raw, and she should be smarter, should distance herself from emotion before too much becomes obvious, but she stands, and jabs him in the chest. “It’s not as simple as that, Barry!”

He opens his mouth to fire back, but, as is becoming a frequent and irritating pattern, Basil’s voice interrupts them, calling, “Barry and Iris, please return to the group!” 

She wonders why he doesn’t sound more concerned, even as she’s trying to think up a cover story. Then she realises why he’s used to couples sneaking off into the woods. 

She grabs up at Barry’s hair, ruffles at it before he starts trying to bat her away. “Iris. Stop! What are you-” He stops as she starts unbuttoning her shirt, squeaks, “Um, Iris?” 

Leaving just enough buttons done up to keep her decent, she shakes out her own hair, and then grabs at Barry’s plaid over shirt, tugging it down his shoulders and leaving it tight around his biceps. “Okay,” she says, inspecting them both. “That should do.” 

She grabs his hand and pulls him through the trees on the left, until they came out onto the path they were originally walking along. The trees that scrape them and the leaves that brush dirt across their legs helps the illusion Iris is going for. 

The group are a few yards or so in front, and Iris quickly stuffs the Laurel’s choker in her jacket pocket as they turn to stare at them. Barry scratches the back of his neck, having apparently caught onto Iris’ plan. “Um, sorry, guys. We, ah, just love the scenery.”

Iris tries not to just facepalm at that. 

“It’s nice for you two to join us again,” Basil says, winking before starting to walk again. 

“Oh, sure,” Iris hears Venus whisper to the person standing next her. “ _ They _ were abstinent.” (Iris is really starting to think Venus wants a good smack.) 

“We’re not done with that conversation,” Barry hisses as the group continue walking along the path. 

“What conversation?” she says innocently, as if it has any chance of working to divert Barry. 

“The one where apparently you’re Facebook friends with murderers!” 

She spins, and points an aggressive finger. “Listen-”

“Here we are!” Basil leads them onto a small, circular clearing, that’s a little too well trimmer and perfectly-shaped to be entirely natural. There’s a circle of tree stumps, at perfect sitting height. On closer inspection, Iris sees that the wood is glazed. “Time for our next activity. Please, everyone, find a stump and make sure you’re next to your partner!”

They obligingly sit on two of the artfully arranged tree stumps, continuing their hissed argument. "I just don't understand how you can trust-"

“Now! This is something we’ll be doing each day, though we won’t always come all the way out here for it!” Basil chuckles, standing behind Wally. “It’s time for Kissing Therapy!”

Just when Iris thinks things can’t get worse. 

“Take it in turns to say something positive about your partner - this can be a quality, a shared memory, or just one of their little quirks you love!” Basil beams. “And after each loving comment, remember to kiss! This reminds you all that your physical love is cohesive and even reliant on your emotional love. Let’s get started!” 

As everyone else starts the activity, Iris glowers at Barry. “You’re unbelievable. Even if La- Black Siren is a criminal, her being my source has led us here. We could stop a much larger threat-”

“You know her  _ name _ ?” Barry says incredulously, obviously having caught her slip up. “How long have you been talking to her? Why haven’t you reported them to the police? She’s  _ dangerous _ , all of them are. She works with the Jaguar, Iris!” 

Iris fights to stop the flinch at the name, at the hatred in Barry’s tone. “It’s not like that-”

"Remember to be saying positive things only!" Basil says particularly loudly and pointedly as he stops behind Barry and Iris. He starts tapping his foot, clearly sending the message that they need to hop to it. 

Barry's jaw sets, and before Iris can really brace for it, he cups her cheeks in his large palms and kisses her, in a way that lingers on her lips even as he pulls back. 

Then, of course, he has to bring her back down to earth by saying, "I just  _ love _ how you're always willing to make new friends, no matter who they are and how many laws they've broken!" His tone is bright enough to keep Basil away, but Iris narrows her eyes at him. 

"Seriously?" she hisses, unimpressed. 

Barry just makes his expression innocent. "What's the matter, honey? Can't you think of  _ anything _ nice to say to me?" His voice carries in the empty clearing, and a few of the pairs start looking over. 

Fine, so that's how he wants to do this. Iris leans forward to rest her palms at the very top of Barry's thighs, thumbs curling on the inseam and just a hair from his crotch. She can feel his thigh muscles tense under her hands, and she smiles sweetly. "Barry, my favourite thing about you is how self-righteous you are! Especially when I know you've always been a law-abiding citizen, even when you snuck out past curfew to smoke pot and make out with Hailey Mattieson." She leans in and kisses him with just the scrape of her teeth running over his bottom lip. 

As she pulls back, his fake smile presses in tightly, especially when Wally leans over to hiss, "What the hell? You always told me Hailey was gay." 

“You’re so sweet, babe.” Barry says, and one hand falls down to hold Iris’, fingers interlocking and resting on the top of his thigh. “So forgiving, as well. If I ever robbed a bank, or even killed someone, I know you’d never think any less of me.” He kisses her, a little more force to it this time. 

“My favourite memory is probably the last time you weren’t such a judgemental ass.” The last part of that slipped out a little too viciously, so Iris makes sure to spend an extra few seconds kissing him, tilting her head to get a little closer. It doesn’t escape her notice that both of them are responding to each kiss, despite how much their words become sharper and sharper; clearly, they’re equally as committed to keeping Basil unsuspecting. 

“Your continued need to put yourself in danger really keeps me on my toes.”

Kiss.

“You’re so controlling, I get to feel like a princess every day!”

Kiss. 

“It’s so cute when you act like you’re invincible.”

Kiss, this time with a bit of tongue. 

“Excellent work, team!” Basil calls out. “Now try and increase the length of kissing after each turn.”

She’s trying not to hate Basil, she really is. 

She reaches up to rest her arms around Barry’s shoulders. In the moment before she kisses him, noses almost pressed together, she realises that she would have seen straight through Barry’s frustration to understand his worry if she wasn’t so raw from the physical reminder of Laurel being in danger. She realises that he doesn’t know she’s a criminal herself, and that she’d be blinded as well if she found out he was networking with criminals for his job. She wonders how she would have reacted if Barry had suddenly disappeared on a known criminal lord’s property. 

So she says, even though his features are still hard, “I wasn’t trying to make you worry. I’ll include you more when I’m investigating this weekend. We’re a team, and I forgot that.” So she leans in and tries to kiss him like they’d kissed before, just a few hours ago, using gentle lips and soft movements, curling just the tips of her fingers in his hair. She can feel the second he lets the anger go, feels his shoulders relax and his thumbs stroke small, tender circles on her waist. 

They break apart. “I’m sorry too,” he says after a beat of silence, their foreheads pressed together. “I know things aren’t that simple. I was just worried. The thought of you in danger-”

“It’s okay,” she says, and this time, when she leans in, she forgets for just a moment, that this is all for show, all for Basil Worthington’s attention. 

 

They all stay at the clearing to have their small snack packs - it makes it a little harder to hate the Thawne Manor Hotel and everything it stands for when their salads are so good, but whatever. It’s late into the afternoon by this point, and dusk settles over the group as they make their way back. Basil has demanded that each relationship hold hands to maintain physical contact; Iris is just glad she and Barry had practised this part beforehand, considering the flutters in her stomach are bad enough having done so. She really must be touch-starved. 

Wally and Linda are off in their own little world; not that Iris is complaining, as long as Linda’s distracted from the inevitable interrogation Iris is sure is coming. Barry and Iris lag back, and Iris uses the time to fill him in on all she’s learned. 

“So there’s definitely something going on behind the woods,” Barry says, after listening to her tell him about the henchmen. “And Black Siren’s involved?”

“Probably White Canary as well,” Iris lies. It’s too dangerous to admit she knows they’ve been kidnapped. She used the cover story that she was upset on Wednesday night that they’d turned to work with Thawne, and finding the choker was only evidence of it. She’s hoping that by the time Barry even comes close to working out the real story, it’ll be too late. “It’s too early to call the police in on it, they can’t face down Thawne. There’s a reason he’s gone untouched for so long.”

“What if we could get the Flash?” Barry asks, which seems a little out of nowhere. 

She pulls a face. “Dude.”

“What?”

“Are you actually obsessed with the Flash?” she teases, hip-checking him gently. “First the costume, now this.”

He flushes a little. “No. I just think, you know, a superhero is probably the right person to call against a supervillain.”

She scoffs. “Please. The Flash gets too much credit. He isn’t all that.” She can actually feel Barry’s hands twitch, and she winces, realising she might have just broken their latest truce. “Um, I mean, I guess he’s pretty inspirational.”

“But you don’t believe that, do you?” He sounds a little sad. 

She shakes her head. “Sorry, no.”

He pauses, then says, “Can I ask why?”

She lets out a sigh. “I don’t want to argue with you again, and I know he tries, but all he seems to do is go after other costumed folk.” 

Also, she doesn’t add, she has a little bit of a personal thing against him after he threw her into a building once. And that other time he cut her cord so she fell into a dumpster.  _ And _ another instance when she managed to tie him up and he sent lightning up the cords she was using to shock her. But obviously she’s not going to voice all that to Barry. 

Barry frowns. “Who else am- is he supposed to go after?”

“What about all the white collar crooks?” She gestures angrily, forgetting for a moment that his hand is still linked with hers. “What about people hiking up medicine prices? Or what about ordinary criminals, rapists the courts never convict or murderers the police never catch?” 

Barry’s silent.

She squeezes his hand. “Sorry. That wasn’t- I know you believe in him.”

Barry’s lips quirk upwards. “Well. Something like that,” he says. 

They make the rest of the walk back to the hotel in silence, still holding hands. Basil asks them all to follow him for one last activity. “It’s only the first day,” he says, with a wagging finger. “So I‘ll let you off easy, and let you all rest after our big hike. But I want to have a quick review of the day before y’all scarper off.”

Great, more talking about their feelings. Iris slinks her hand out of Barry’s as they reach the dining room, figuring that if they’re starting a new activity, the old one surely no longer applies. She notices Keith, the guy still recovering from his wife’s marriage, eyeing the movement, but she ignores it, figuring he’s probably not going to call her out on it. They all take their seats again around the table. 

Basil clasps his hands together, yet again. Iris is starting to think it’s a nervous tick. “I’d like us all to go around the room and say something new we learned about our relationships. Jenny and Kamala, why don’t you two go first.”

Jenny looks lovingly at Kamala - they’re still holding hands, Iris notices a little self-consciously - and says, “I learned that Kamala isn’t ashamed of me, she’s ashamed of her parents.” 

Kamala smiles. “Babe. I learned that you have an allergy of peanuts. I’m really sorry for being mad that you preferred Skittles over Snickers.” That makes the table chuckle, and, admittedly, it’s cute. But Iris is already eyeing how many people are between them and her, and what she’s going to say. 

Lewis, Rahul and Sandra go next, which is a little complicated as they make sure to cover everyone, but they seem to have evolved their relationship as well. Adam and Paul keep it light, having apparently learned each other’s favourite flower type. Jessica and Keith go next, and save Iris from being the worst contributor, when Jessica tells Keith she learned he still has the biggest heart of anyone she knows, and Keith, with a stone cold expression, replies that he finally learned the name of the guy she had an affair with. 

There’s an awkward silence, but, luckily, Basil is a pro. He turns to Iris. “Iris, why don’t you go next?” She feels his eyes telling her not to fuck this up; at least she’s not the worst member of the team anymore. 

“Right.” She turns to Barry, tries to make her face look as loving as everyone else. She pauses as she thinks; she knows Barry and Basil are assuming she doesn’t have anything to say, but she does and she wants to say it right. “Barry, today I learned that I’m glad you believe in heroes. It makes me want to believe in them too.”

He tilts his head, looking a little surprised. She wonders if he’s going to use the moment to say he learned that she associates with criminals. Or that she’s a liar, or a bad actor. He could, and he’d be right for each one. But he says, “Iris, I learned that you put friendships first - even above your own well being.” She searches his face for a hidden meaning, one that betrays the kind tone, but even he can’t be that good of an actor. 

They share a secret kind of smile as Wally goes next, saying that today he learned that Linda believes fairies exist. Iris is quickly realising that her fears about working with Barry were completely unfounded, and she can’t imagine anyone else she’d rather be here with. 

Basil genuinely seems pleased with them all once everyone's finished speaking. He beams at them, and with that kind of positivity it's difficult to remember all the annoyance Iris was feeling towards him. "Okay, I'll let you all get off. Remember, though!" He adds, just as they start to stand. "Every night is date night while you're here - I'll want a report tomorrow about your romantic evenings. Try to do something you'll both enjoy, even if that's just cuddling all night!"

Iris takes that previous statement back. Basil sucks. 

She and Barry make their way to their rooms, quiet but not unpleasantly so. "So, what would you enjoy doing tonight?" Barry asks. He adopts a more ridiculous voice. "Perhaps we can take a moonlight walk and spoon on top of the hills. So romantic!"

She laughs, elbowing him as she enters the keycode for the room. She's feeling lighter than she has in four days. "Whatever, we'll just tell him we fed each other oysters of something."

"Oh, crustaceans." Barry waggles his eyebrows. "Sexy."

She laughs again, walking towards the bathroom. But as she does so, she notices something slightly off about her suitcase. Trying not to visibly panic as Barry walks further into the room, picking up the TV remote and saying something about a game he wanted to catch, Iris crouches by her case. She runs her hands over the zip, and sees the small piece of paper caught between it. Her padlock is twisted to an angle she doesn't use, and she calls out, casually, "Hey, Barry, you didn't go in my suitcase, did you?"

"No," he says. "I don't think I could, even if I wanted to. Did Joe get you that lock from the precinct?"

She fakes a laugh, and then quickly twists the padlock free, putting in the key attached to her necklace and then entering in the code. She slowly unzips her suitcase to the point of the piece of paper, and pulls the slip free.

> J, by the back entrance. Half 8. - CC

It's from Snart, which is a huge relief - he's the one who gave her the padlock, so she can rest easy that no one else has gone in. 

She checks her watch: it's twenty past now. She looks up at Barry, and considers her options. They've reached a new understanding today, and she knows he's forgiven a lot of her that he might not for another person. But she also told him she didn't know Captain Cold like she knew Sara and Laurel, and bringing him to the meeting might scare Snart off, which she can't risk. If he's come all the way here, he has some information that could prove to be invaluable. So she makes her decision, and if it leaves her a little uneasy, so be it. She can't prioritise her friendship with Barry over Sara and Laurel's lives, especially when she's already wasted so much time today on talking about her goddamn  _ feelings _ . 

So she zips her suitcase back up, and then sits down on the bed next to Barry, making sure her body language is calm and lucid. Barry's caught up in the game, but she puts her phone on loud, and then starts texting herself furiously. Eventually, the beeps catch his attention, and he asks, without looking away from the TV screen, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Iris says. Then another beep comes through (from her own number, texting herself Spice Girl lyrics), and she sighs. "Well, something's up with Linda."

"Oh?"

"Something girly," she warns. 

Barry rolls his eyes. "You can say period, you know. Remember when you gave me the tampon talk when we were fifteen?" 

Oh, yeah, she does remember that. She'd been having a particularly bad instance of cramps that month, and a boy at school had made a stupid joke about her needing to go to the bathroom with her bag at school. Barry always had a talent for knowing when something was really bothering her, even when she tried to hide it; he'd brought her ice cream and had patiently listened to her rant about all the sufferings people with periods put up with, in between watching old cartoons. The memory makes her feel even worse about lying. "Well, yeah. Do you mind if I go see her quickly?" 

He waves her off. "Come on, we're not actually having a romantic date night, remember?"

"Right," she says, and she's not sure why that sets off a twinge in her stomach. She’s just a bundle of nerves by this point. 

She uses a different route than earlier, not wanting to alert the suspicions of the kitchen staff anymore than she has to; she goes out the front entrance, borrowing a smoke off Keith at the bottom of the grandiose stairs. He's sulky and standoffish, and doesn't reply when she makes a comment about the wind blowing out her cigarette and finding better shelter. She walks all around the manor and keeps to the shadows as she nears the back entrance. 

She stands there for a few moments, fighting the urge to actually take a draw from the cigarette. Apparently Joe's warnings about lung cancer were effective - maybe he should've sat her down for a talk about supervillainy as well. 

She leans with her back against the wall. A bellboy comes out the door closest to her and takes a quick drag of an e-cigarette. At one point he looks to be considering coming over to talk to her, but he eventually leaves, back inside. 

As the door closes behind him, she hears the coil of rope, and spins just as Snart basically abseils down the entire building. She doesn't want to call overkill, but, really? 

He doesn't bother untangling himself, and so Iris assumes he isn't going to be staying long. 

"What's up?" she asks, flicking away the burning cigarette and crushing it underneath her shoe. 

Snart looks solemn. "I don't suppose I can convince you to leave."

She shakes her head. "No. I'm finding Sara and Laurel, whatever the cost."

He twists his lips, and she's waiting for the sardonic comment. But instead he says, "I'm worried, kid. I found out something that makes this entire operation impossible."

Her stomach sinks. "What is it?"

He looks away into the woods, and then looks back, as if gathering his resolve. "Thawne's a speedster."

Iris's eyes widen. "Seriously?"

He nods.

"Fuck." Iris leans back against the wall. 

She's just about managed to hold her own against the Flash, but mainly because he doesn't kill and she's always managed to distract him. Thawne won't have those hindrances. And the fact remains that if Thawne's a speedster villain still at large, the Flash hasn't been able to defeat him, which is certainly troubling. 

Her only hope is to get Sara and Laurel out of there while he's stuck with a diversion - now she really is regretting turning down Barry's suggestion to work with the Flash, if only to have someone to run around with Thawne. She rubs at her forehead, says, "I'm still going after them." Now it's almost certainly a suicide run, but the idea of leaving them to someone like that is equally as awful. 

“I thought you might be stubborn like that,” he says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black case, maybe large enough to hold a portable game player. Iris eagerly opens it up - gifts from Snart are always worth the excitement - and examines the metal discs. They have some intricate markings on, with a central circle that glows slightly in the dusk light. “What are they?” she asks. 

“They slow a speedster. Only temporarily, and only a small area of the body. But it might just be enough in an emergency.”

She traces her finger over them. “Any speedster? Or just Thawne?”

Snart’s lips curl in a smirk. “I tested them out on the Flash already, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

In the past hour or so, Iris has tried to come around to Barry’s way of thinking, has tried not to hate the Flash personally. But she remembers that he once hit Laurel so hard she didn’t wake up for a few days, and he kept Sara in that awful prison of his for two weeks before they rescued her. She snaps the case shut, and grins. “Good.” 

He holds out his hand for a fist bump. “It’s been wild, Jaguar.” It’s with that gesture she understands the gravitas of the situation - he’s respecting her decision, but this might very well be a permanent goodbye. You don’t go up against someone like Thawne expecting just a couple of scratches. 

She taps her knuckles against his. "Thanks, Leonard."

He clicks at something at his waist, and the rope cinches, starts tugging him up. She walks away, because she knows the image of Leonard actually leaving her to do this herself will be too much. She can't chicken out now. 

She hurries back to the bedroom, having probably gone over the respectable amount of time she could be spending with Linda. She walks in to see Barry still watching the TV, and quickly slips the disc case from Leonard into her bag. She'll attach it to her costume at a later date - part of her wants to attack tonight, but she knows she hasn't done enough recon and she needs to know a bit more about what she's up against before she can go for the criminal hub of the hotel. 

She sits down next to Barry, closer than she'd intended; in the soft dip of the mattress, she ends up with her thigh pressed all along Barry's. He doesn't seem to notice, and it would bring more attention to it she moved away. "Who's winning?" she asks, nodding at the game on the screen. 

"The Clippers," he says, watching intently. "They've made some great shots, but they needed to put Ramirez on the court way earlier..." 

As he continues his game analysis, occasionally halting to egg on the players as if they can hear his encouragement all the way in California, Iris finds herself watching the gleam in his eye, the unbridled emotions on his face. She feels like something's fluttering in her chest, which is weird. Something in her salad provided by Basil must have been out of date. She has the strange urge to lean her head against his shoulder; not even to initiate anything, just to let the physical contact leach away the stress of the day and the worry of what tomorrow holds. 

She shakes away the thought, checks her watch. It’s coming up to seven, and she’s kind of tired but also  _ very _ hungry. Basil’s snack pack had good intentions but not enough carbs. She gently rocks into Barry with her side to gain his attention. “You want to get take-out?”

He smiles, still watching the game. “I, uh, actually already ordered some Chinese.”

Some cashew chicken actually sounds like bliss right now.  She pokes him. “You’re not a meta-human, are you? Quick, what am I thinking right now?”

He plays along, narrowing his eyes and holding a finger to his temple. “You are thinking...about how much you’re going to tell Basil about your dreamy boyfriend.”

“Oh, dreamy, huh?” she raises her eyebrows. 

He scoffs. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t already salivating over the idea of cashew chicken.”

She tries not to flinch at that and not to be genuinely worried that Barry can actually read minds. But, no, if Barry was a metahuman, she’d know. 

A knock comes from the door a few moments later, just as the basketball game on TV is finishing, and they pile all the food containers on the middle of the bed. They use the cutlery provided from Basil's snack packs to take mouthfuls at a time. True to Barry's prediction, most of the cashew chicken is quickly eaten by Iris.

"So, this is our story for Basil?" Iris confirms, mainly pleased to be prepared for Basil's interrogations for once. "Take out and bed?"

He nods in agreement, just as he takes a bite of food. 

She makes a little humming sound in thought, and then thinks aloud without really checking in with her brain-to-mouth filter. "Should we have sex?"

Barry chokes on his spring roll.

She goes red. “I mean, hypothetically. Should we tell Basil we had sex? Or just imply it?”

Barry clears his throat, eyes watering a little. “Right, hypothetically. Sure. Um, I guess just hint about it? I’m pretty sure Linda’s the only one judging our sex life, anyway.” Before Iris can pull a face at the reminder of the conversation she has yet to have with Linda about that, Barry amends, “Well, apart from Venus, of course.”

Iris emphatically gestures, “Right? I knew I wasn’t imagining all those side-eyes!” 

Barry laughs. “She’s probably just jealous because your partner isn’t at least fifty years older than you.”

An hour or so later, the food is forgotten and they’re curled further up on the bed, facing each other and still gossiping about their fellow retreaters. Iris is giggling at Barry’s impression of Basil when she stifles a yawn. It’s not even late, but the stress of pretending and the long drive up to the manor has drained her. It doesn’t escape Barry’s notice, and he sits up, moving to clear the takeout rubbish from the bed. “Come on,” he says, gently. “Let’s get to bed. Big day tomorrow, remember?”

She hums, and somehow finds the energy to sit up and make her way to the bathroom. She’s just putting the toothpaste on her brush when Barry appears behind her in the mirror, reaching for his own toothbrush. He’s only in his boxers, a fact that certainly does not escape Iris. She fights to keep her attention on brushing her teeth, but there’s an unavoidable tension, especially as Barry leans close to use the sink as well. She is not going to stare at his chest, she is  _ not _ .

She escapes from the bathroom as quickly as she can, because even her self-control isn’t that good. She quickly reaches into her suitcase to change into her pyjama shorts. But she frowns as she goes through her case - she was sure she’d packed her Central City Miner’s t-shirt, but there’s nothing here she could really wear to sleep in. 

She calls out without thinking, “Barry? Do you have a t-shirt I could borrow to sleep in?” She’d  ask the same of any of her friends, and she’s slept in Wally’s clothes enough for him to no longer get annoyed about it. 

But as Barry obligingly chucks her his LA Clippers vest (with a smug smirk like he knows it’s nearly sacrilegious for her to be supporting an enemy team), and she’s slipping it on, she realises this is not the same situation at all. For one thing, she’s never been inappropriately turned on by the deodorant Linda uses. She climbs into bed, trying to appear casual when her limbs feel too stiff and too long for her body. 

She slips under the covers, shutting her eyes as she hears Barry climb in beside her. She hears, rather than sees, the lights click off. She’s had sleepovers with Barry before, but that was when they were kids, before puberty hit and definitely before that chest was anywhere near as defined as it is now. She can’t seem to focus on anything but the steady pattern of his exhales. 

It takes her a while to fall asleep, despite how tired she was a few moments ago. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at end notes of this chapter for possible TW towards the latter part of the chapter. (very mild but I was a little uncomfortable writing it, so make sure to look after yourselves!)

She wakes up comfortable and weirdly content. Her eyes slowly flutter open, as she realises her head is resting on something too hard to be her pillow. She takes a deep inhale, the smell of Barry’s deodorant even stronger than it was when she went to bed. As her eyes open more fully and she takes stock of her surroundings, she almost jumps with the realisation that, somehow, during the night, she has ended up sleeping on Barry’s chest, with his arm curled around her. 

But she’s too sleepy to really react as she should, which is to carefully move back to her own side of the bed and then consider getting up.

His face looks beautiful, resting and slack. His cheekbones are sharp and soft and graceful in a way that’s all too easy to overlook with his general awkwardness. His biceps are firm, and though his eyes are closed, she knows the colour is an inviting sea-grey-green. She can just about make out the dusting of freckles across his nose and onto his cheeks. His lips are open just enough to let out his easy and soft breathing.

It seems too difficult to fight the urge to close her eyes again and nuzzle her nose into the soft, warm skin. Sleep claims her again easily. 

 

When she wakes up again, she’s a little more coherent, but still not cognisant enough to move. She glances up to see Barry’s looking back down at her, a soft, inviting smile gracing his lips. It would be so easy just to tilt her chin up a little, press her lips against his, fold herself more fully into his firm warmth and soft skin. She wants to-

_ Fuck _ . 

She manages to paint on a sheepish smile, despite the internal shrieking, and rolls away, ignoring the temptation to scream into her pillow in frustration. She mumbles something about needing the toilet, and makes her escape to the bathroom. 

How on earth did she not realise the inevitability of this? Of this feeling in her chest like she’s been hit by a train, of this desire to kiss him and laugh with him and learn every inch of his body and mind?

She gets dressed with her mind in a fog, goes through the motions of unwrapping her hair and doing her make-up without really seeing any of it. She wants to kiss Barry, like, all the time. She wants to ask about his day, every day. She wants to date him, which is perhaps the scariest conclusion of all.

She’s just staring at herself in the mirror, mentally scolding herself for not wanting to take off Barry’s basketball jersey, when Barry himself gently raps on the door, reminding her that they have to be downstairs soon for breakfast with Basil and all the other couples. Iris takes a deep breath, reminds herself that she can be normal, and walks out of the bathroom with a polite smile.

But of course she walks out just as Barry’s sliding on a sweater over his bare chest, and, good lord, is he doing this deliberately? Does he actually want her to brain herself on the nearest wall? 

She reminds herself that she is an adult, who does her taxes and has an eBay account and steals from multi-national corporations. She can handle Barry Allen, as well as whatever ridiculous feelings he seems to have inspired in her. 

“So, is there anything particular about breakfast?” She asks, fiddling with the printed itinerary on the bed. She’s half worried that if they have eye contact, he’ll be able to see straight through her. 

“What do you mean?” he asks absentmindedly as he sits on the edge of the bed to put on socks. 

“Like,” she gestures flippantly. She’s totally casual, whatever. “We’re not going to have to feed each other and then compare our relationship to cereal brands, are we?”

Barry snorts. “I’m pretty sure the schedule just says ‘breakfast’, so hopefully we’ll be able to feed ourselves."

There's a sudden knock on the door, and Barry and Iris share a confused look. "Is it housekeeping?" Iris asks, already eyeing how close her case and equipment is. In all her internal melodrama, she hasn't forgotten they're still in a crime lord's territory. 

"Barry! It's Wally," calls her brother's voice, and she immediately relaxes. 

"What do you want?" Iris calls back, for some reason irritated that he didn't call her name as well. 

Barry rolls his eyes. "I'll go talk to him."

"Alright, but remember," she adds, faux-innocently. "Breakfast in a few minutes, darling!"

In response, Barry chucks one of his t-shirts at her, which she only just narrowly catches in front of her face, giggling and falling back onto the mattress. When she sits back up, still laughing a little bit, she catches him looking at her like... like if she kissed him right now, with no-one around, he'd kiss her back. Like she could ask him for coffee and wrestle him onto the bed and hold his hand in public, and he'd want her to. She feels giddy with the thought, even as he shakes his head, a fond smile that only encourages the swirling hope in her mind, and walks out to the hallway. 

He closes the door behind him, and Iris can barely make out the murmur of their voices. She sits on the bed, twiddling her thumbs. 

She considers herself a person of moral integrity, despite the whole super villain thing, and she's certainly not intending to eavesdrop. She stands, and wanders closer to the door, just slightly. She's just innocently checking something in her suitcase, which just happens to be by the door. That's all! That's when she hears Wally say her name - slightly muffled, but certainly clear enough. And if they're talking about her, doesn't she have a right to know what they're saying? 

She grabs the complimentary glass on the little table to her right, pulling off the plastic and pressing it between the door and her ear. 

“-you doing?” she hears Wally ask. 

"I'm fine," Barry replies, sounding a little aggravated. That makes Iris a little concerned - why wouldn't he be? What does Wally know that she doesn't?

"I just know this must be hard for you, okay? I'm asking as your friend, come on-"

"It's not like that."

"You're being forced to live with each other, in romantic situations. And I see you two together, I know there's something."

Iris' heart is beating very fast as she waits for Barry's reply. After a moment's pause, he lets out a little scoff. "Wally, this isn't real. We all know it. Iris and I are just good actors."

Her stomach churns. She slightly feels as if she's going to be ill.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. We had one night-"

"Okay!" She can imagine Wally recoiling from the tone of his voice. "I'm your friend but I'm also her little brother. Spare us the details, yeah?"

"Whatever. We had one night, and yeah, this weekend is a little awkward. But we're adults, and there's nothing real here. This isn’t a real relationship, and it won’t ever be."

Iris slowly lets her hold drop, and the glass slips away from the door. She steps away, feeling cold all over. She puts the glass back on the table, and has the abrupt desire to run away and punch something, to wear her Jaguar mask and go find Sara and Laurel no matter how unprepared she is. 

She takes a deep breath, holds it in, lets it go. 

No, she can deal with this. Barry's right, they are adults. Barry doesn't return her feelings, and that's fine, that's perfectly legitimate. At least she knows now rather than making a move and making this weekend even more awkward. She should’ve known from the morning after their one night stand - she thought she was being the one to control the end of it, but wasn’t he just as eager to keep it a secret? Anyway, she needs to focus on Sara and Laurel. She can’t allow herself to get sidetracked. 

When Barry comes back, she’s carefully locked away the little blossom of hope that had erupted this morning, and she smiles brightly. Possibly too brightly, but whatever, she’s working on it. He smiles back, though it’s a little weak. “You ready for breakfast and Basil?” he asks. 

She lets out a little groan, standing. “Breakfast, definitely. Basil, not until I’ve had coffee.”

Luckily, Basil isn’t there yet when they make their way down to the dining area. Other guests staying at the hotel are scattered around on tables, and Iris is both thankful and worried as she assumes she and Barry will sit on one of them. But then a waving hand catches her eye, and she sees Jessica gesturing them both over to a long table beside the juice bar. 

Most of the couples are there, including Wally and Linda, who suspiciously and abruptly stop whispering to each other when they spot Barry and Iris. Iris feels a little stab of hurt in her stomach when she realises Wally must be filling in Linda on his conversation with Barry, and she resolves not to be left alone with Linda today. She might be able to keep a front up for Barry, but Linda will see straight through it, and she’s honestly not up for that inquisition today.

“I’ll get you a coffee,” Barry says, and Iris might see that as a kind gesture if she didn’t know he wanted her to go greet everyone first.

But she can take one for the team. “Two-”

“-sugars with a splash of cream, I know.” She doesn’t even have time to be surprised that he knows her coffee order as he quickly strides away to the coffee station. 

She sits down in the space next to Rahul, who’s holding hands with Lewis beside him. She doesn’t need to look to know that Lewis is holding hands with Sandra - at least they’ve already found the retreat productive so far. “How was your night?” asks Ursula, sitting opposite of Iris. 

“Good,” says Iris, pasting on a smile, despite Barry’s words still bouncing around in her mind like a terrible echo. “Barry and I just ordered take-out and stayed in bed.” She pretends to be embarrassed as Lewis and Rahul share a Look with a capital ‘L’, as if the implication of their night in is unintentional. “What did you guys do?”

Apparently Lewis, Rahul and Sandra took a taxi out to the bowling alley as a throwback to their first date as a three, and Ursula and Tamara had a romantic dinner in the nearby town. She’s listening to Tamara’s review of the pizza when Barry sits down next to her, placing down her coffee and a slice of wholemeal toast in front of her. Ursula lets out a little coo, and Iris looks up just in time to see Barry looking a little flustered at the attention. 

She doesn’t know what comes over her, because she’s usually not this masochistic - maybe it’s the competitive side of her, not wanting Barry to keep winning the perfect partner awards, or maybe it’s the part of her still smarting from his words to Wally. Either way, and she can’t wholly explain why, as he sits down, she gently pinches his chin between her thumb and forefinger to kiss him, close-lipped and firm. 

“Thanks, babe,” she says,  trying to not smile victoriously at Ursula’s even louder coo. 

Barry’s eyes flicker open again, and the corner of his lips quirk. She turns back to her toast before she gets lost in that expression, forcing herself to tune back into the table’s conversation. Unfortunately, it’s about Barry and herself.

“They’re so cute,” says Paul, and Iris is abruptly aware that most of the table is looking at them. She takes a little sip of her coffee as something to do. “You’d have such cute babies, don’t you think?” 

Iris chokes on her coffee. 

“Paul!” Adam, his husband, scolds. “Honestly, you can be so rude sometimes.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Paul holds up his hands in defense as Iris dabs at her chin with her handkerchief, ignoring Barry’s silent sniggers. “You two haven’t been together that long, have you?”

Iris freezes. This is definitely something she and Barry should have discussed, but they hadn’t decided on how long they’ve supposedly been dating. Fuck. 

Barry puts his hand over Iris’, a simple gesture to anyone else but to her, as a signal for her to relax. “We’ve been together four months,” he says smoothly. 

Paul frowns. “I would’ve guessed longer.” At Iris’ clear confusion, he explains, “You two have a familiarity most couples don't have that early on. I know Adam and I were still a little awkward for the first half year we were together.”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids,” supplies Iris, figuring that if they can use as much of the truth as possible, the better. 

“That’s so sweet,”says Ursula. “How did you decide to start dating, then?” 

"Ah," Barry says. "We, uh-"

"Slept together," Iris fills in. If she has to listen to Barry create some romantic fake life, it might just be too much for her to have the clear contrast between what is real and what could have been. "It was supposed to be just a one night stand, but, well."

Ursula lets out a belly laugh. "Well, that's modern romance for you," she says, not unkindly. 

"She just couldn't stay away," Barry says, winking at Iris. That's better; familiar teasing puts them back on steady ground. She elbows him, perhaps a little harder than she should have judging by his flinch. 

Paul opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s interrupted by the arrival of Basil, who stands at the head of the table. “Excellent!” he crows. “You’ve all sat together, that’s fabulous. I hope you’ve all been discussing your date nights?” At their various confirming nods and murmurs, he beams. “Wonderful! Oh, I’m so pleased. Well, I’m just here to let you know that our next exercise is going to be on the front lawns, beside the boules pitch. Please meet there within the next twenty minutes. Love y’all!” And with that, he bounds away again. 

“I want whatever he’s on,” Barry whispers out the side of his mouth, and Iris hides her snicker behind her hand. The group splinters slowly, some couples going back to their room first and others going straight to the lawn. As the last couple to arrive, Iris isn’t particularly surprised that she and Barry are one of the last ones to leave - it’s only Linda and Wally who leave before them. As they stand, Linda looks searchingly at Iris, and Iris signals her to not go there with the minute shake of her head. Linda looks concerned, but thankfully walks away, holding hands with Wally. 

Iris finishes the last sip of her coffee, and Barry apparently takes that as a sign to stand. Iris copies him, shaking the toast crumbs from her lap. Before he starts to walk in the direction of the lawns, however, her hand darts out to rest on his upper arm, grabbing his attention. “Hey,” she says quietly. “If we get an opportunity, we should try and explore the hotel itself, see if we can find any records or talk to anyone about what’s really out in the woods.” 

Barry nods, jaw set decisively, and, quite frankly, she shouldn’t find basic professionalism on him so sexy. Get a grip, West. 

They walk outside and manage to find the right lawn, perfectly mowed grass and a neatly trimmed shrub border. A peacock that Iris at first assumes is a decoration actually starts stalking away behind Basil, as he’s instructing everyone to form a circle around him.  

Once everyone is in a neat formation surrounding him, Basil rocks onto his tip-toes and then back onto his heels, announcing to the group, “We’re going to play a little game to make sure your bodies are nice and loose to prep your minds to be open.” 

They end up playing a game like a relay race, but standing on each other’s feet. Apparently it shows physical support and compatibility or whatever, but ends up with Iris flush along Barry’s front, standing on the top of his shoes as he walks them both forward towards Jessica. They've been doing trust falls since third grade P.E, so it's doesn't take much effort.  Basil cheers them all on, though she can’t muster much competitiveness with the feeling of Barry’s firm body all along her back. She hops off Barry and lets Jessica jump on, watching as they make their way back to Keith. She’s certainly not jealous at Jessica being just as physically close to Barry, because that would be ridiculous. 

Jessica then hops onto Keith’s feet, but it’s obvious to everyone how he holds her an inch away from his body, only just close enough for them to complete the exercise. When they reach her, it’s Iris’ turn to stand on Keith’s feet, which she does with more than a little hesitance. Keith’s hands move around her stomach and pull her close to him - she’s thankful when she hears Wally and Linda start braying in celebration, and she can separate herself from Keith as quickly as possible. 

"Excellent warm-up, guys!" Basil says as they all go back to the circular formation. "I hope you’re all feeling nice and loose. Now, that should have given the team enough time to set up the next activity!" He leads them back inside to the dining room, ignoring the confusion of his group. He opens the door with a flourish, letting them all walk in and see what the next hour holds for them. 

Iris is a grown woman, yet, somehow, through various decisions made during her lifetime, she has found herself in a room looking at pipe cleaners and coloured tissue paper and glue-sticks. 

"It's an arts and crafts session!" Paul, surprisingly, exclaims excitedly. 

"Exactly," Basil beams. "Everyone, please sit with your partner. This is a little activity for the more creatively minded of you."

Maybe this isn't going to be the worst thing in the world. Maybe Iris can just cut out some shapes and stick them together. She's done similar activities babysitting her younger cousins, and she's a pro at using glitter without getting it in her hair.  She sits down with Barry, finding what is soon becoming their allocated seats around the table, and starts reaching for some scissors. She stops when she sees Basil about to clap his hands together, and remembers the pattern of this weekend: talking about their feelings in increasingly embarrassing ways.

Her dread is confirmed as Basil explains, a shade too happily, "You're going to be using these resources to express what you think is the main problem in your relationship that you want to work on together. Use whatever you like, make it as abstract as you like - have at it!"

Barry and Iris share a look as the rest of the group starts cutting paper and grabbing pipe cleaners. “What _is_ our main problem as a couple?” Barry hisses out the side of his mouth, fiddling with a felt tip marker. 

“You mean apart for the fact we’re not actually one?” Iris replies under her breath. At Barry’s huff of laughter, she adds, “I told Sandra I had intimacy issues yesterday.”

“Okay.” Barry hesitates. “And how are we supposed to express that with glitter, exactly?”

Basil’s at the other end of the table inspecting Paul and Adam’s already impressive poster, so Iris feels safe enough to shrug, and say, “I don’t know, draw a portrait of Freud or something. As long as we do the activity, who cares?”

“We can’t just hand in something subpar,” Barry argues. 

Iris is about to refute that point, but then she takes a closer look at how Barry has already collected a few materials, and is tapping his marker against the table. “Hand in?” She repeats. “Are you- Barry, you do know this isn’t a school assignment, yeah?”

“What?” He flushes, deliberately puts the felt tip on the table and retracts his hand. “Of course I know that.”

But now Iris has caught on, and she teases, “Really? And you know that we’re not getting marked on this?” She’d forgotten this particular quality of Barry: the A* science dioramas he’d spend weeks on; his natural tardiness somehow never affecting his homework; the manic gleam in his eyes during his college finals. 

The tips of his ears are red. “Shut up.”

She bites back her reply and watches as he starts pasting bits of card onto other bits of card. Her hand silently creeps out and grabs a pot of gold glitter. She’s sure he’s building a wonderful display about her supposed (or rather, quite accurately assessed) intimacy issues, but she carefully screws open the pot, carefully so as not to alert Barry of her plan. 

He looks up just in time to receive the brunt of the glitter thrown onto his face.

A lot of it lands in his hair, and he’ll be lucky to get that out before he retires. Iris clamps her lips together to try and stop the sniggers from escaping, but it’s the expression of closed-eyed resignation on his features that makes her start laughing unhindered. 

She’s so busy giggling that she’s wholly unprepared for the impact of return fire. She blinks her eyes back open a moment after the glitter hits her face, feels it resting on her lashes and in her mouth. 

She and Barry stare at each other for a moment in silence. “You. Are.  _ So _ dead. “ Iris says slowly, though the effect is probably ruining by the twitching corners of her lips. 

He holds up a piece of paper just as she aims more glitter at him, but she adapts quickly. She grabs the Elmer’s glue and drizzles it over his head. “Iris!” he exclaims indignantly as the sensation of the gloopy liquid surprises him, dropping the piece of paper and letting it float to the floor.. One drop oozes down the middle of his forehead, with parts of his hair matted down and other tufts sticking out even more pronounced. 

She holds up the bottle innocently. “It washes out,” she says, referring to the colourful promise made on the label. 

He slowly reaches up to pat the offended area - his hand pulls away wet, with a string of glue between his palm and scalp, and Iris has to hold her hands over her mouth. She’s still holding the glue, so she watches him look around for a weapon of revenge. There’s nothing but tissue paper, until he looks at his sticky hand, and then back at her.

She leans back as his glue-covered hand slowly reaches for her face. “Ah, no, Barry!” 

Luckily, Barry retribution is cut short as Iris’ yelp of panic catches the attention of Basil, who coughs pointedly. “Bearis,” (which takes Iris a second to recall is their allocated pair name), “Are you two finished?” 

“Um,” says Iris, well aware, as the rest of the group turns to look at them, that she and Barry are covered in glitter and glue and certainly do not have anything to present as symbolic of their relationship. 

“Let’s go round the room, shall we?” Basil says, his tone a little dangerous like he knows Barry and Iris have been messing around. She’s quickly learning that he takes his activities very seriously. “Barry, why don’t you explain to us what you’ve made?”

Barry looks down to his abandoned pieces of card, and then to Iris, taking in her glitter-covered face that only matches his own. 

“Um," offers Barry into the anticipating silence of the group. "Intimacy issues?"

Iris has to hide her laughter in his shoulder. 

It hits midday, and Basil announces that they’re allowed a two hour break to explore the hotel and take advantage of its facilities. “Remember, if you want to just spend the two hours naked in bed, that’s quite alright!” He winks at the group. Iris would like to know what hellish thing she did in a past life to deserve not only hearing that, but hearing that with her younger brother standing directly opposite her. 

But two hours of freedom sounds perfect. She grabs at Barry’s hand, dragging him back to the hotel. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s explore.”

He raises a single eyebrow at her, and wordlessly reaches up to gently press below her cheek, withdrawing his fingertip to reveal the glitter on it. 

"Ah," she considers. "Okay, let’s shower first, _then_ explore.”

They end up walking around the spa area first, trying to find some kind of administration room. Iris tries not to get sidetracked by Barry’s hair, spiked haphazardly and still damp from his shower to remove the glue from his hair. 

They’re walking down a hallway with various rooms for massages passing on either side, the hum of calming music and wind chimes filling the silence between them, when Iris notices a sign on a door reading,  _ Administration _ . Barry spots it as well, and whispers, “What’s the plan?”

Compared to Laurel and Sara, Iris is the embodiment of patience. In most other scenarios, however, not so much. 

She strides to the door and twists the doorknob, marching inside despite the sound of Barry’s hissed complaints, when it proves to be unlocked. They’re faced with a number of tall cabinets, most of which are locked when Iris tugs at them. She eventually gets to one that isn’t locked, the ‘L-O’ section of ‘Supplies’. She starts rummaging through, looking for anything at all suspicious. She hears the opening of another drawer behind her, signalling Barry must have found another one unlocked. They search in silence for a few moments; with every unhelpful sheet of paper, Iris is growing more and more conscious that someone could walk in at any moment. 

She’s just about to move onto another drawer when she spots a crumpled up sheet stuffed right at the back. It’s caught a little from the drawer above, but she manages to gently pull it free. Her eyes rake over the numbers, and a victorious grin emerges on her face. “What is it?” asks Barry, coming to look over her shoulder. 

“Look,” she whispers, pointing to one number in particular. “They’ve tried to hide it with all the spa supplies, but why would a spa need to place an order for tasers? Especially the ones from this company.” The paper confirms the large order from the same company Iris bought her Jaguar taser from - they’re easily customised and definitely illegal depending on which sales rep you talk to.

“They sell illegal tasers?”

“I investigated the company briefly for a story,” Iris lies. “But this could be official proof that there’s something shifty going on.” Which is a small victory she wasn’t counting on - maybe Barry’s need to involve the police has had an effect on her after all. 

They both flinch at the sound of voices outside. Luckily, they pass by without stopping, but that’s a risk they can’t afford in the middle of the weekend. They carefully check the hallway is clear before slipping out. Iris folds the paper into the back pocket of her jeans, and they start walking on. 

“Hello!” They both stop at the too-cheery voice, and slowly turn. A blonde spa attendant is walking towards them; Iris would guess she’s a few years older than them, though that could be the skin damage inflicted from the presumably numerous hours spent in the tanning bed to attain that particular orange skin tone. “Are you looking for a free massage room?”

“Yes,” Iris says, automatically. 

The attendant smiles, as if they’re all sharing a secret. “Basil said some of the couples on the retreat might be.” She walks forward, and holds open a door. “Here, this one’s free.”

“Awesome,” Barry says, and they have no choice but to step inside. 

“Have fun, you two,” she says, winking before she shuts the door. 

Iris lets out an exhale of resignation. “This entire hotel must think we’re fucking like rabbits.”

"Hey, Iris," she turns around and sees Barry wiggling a huge glass bottle of scented oil at her.  _ "Let's massage our troubles away." _

She stifles back a laugh at his imitation of Basil's Southern accent, and looks around the room. They obviously have to stay in here long enough to avoid suspicion, and she asks, "I'm starving, do you think the potpourri is edible?"

"Probably not- Ah!" 

She spins at his yelp and the following crash. She's not sure whether to laugh or cry at the sight: the huge bottle of oil has fallen from Barry's clasp, and smashed on the floor between his feet. "Butterfingers Barry strikes again."

"That was not my fault," he protests. "For real, it was slippery."

"Really?" She puts her hands on her hips. " _ Really, _ was the bottle of lubricant slippery?"

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, there's a knock on the door. "Everything alright in there?"

Barry shoots her a desperate glance. "Help!" he hisses. 

"What?"

"You've seen how fancy this place is! I don't want to pay for a bottle of rich people oil." He crouches to start picking up the broken pieces of glass. "Quick, grab a towel, let’s clean this up."

She rolls her eyes, but obligingly reaches for the single towel in the room, She crouches down as well to start dabbing at the oil, even as another knock on the door sounds. "Just a second!" she calls to whoever's waiting out there. But the towel is quickly and uselessly sopping with oil, and the smell of lavender is sickeningly overpowering.

"Get another towel," Barry says, having picked up the glass and hidden it underneath a shelving unit. 

Iris shakes her head. "This is the only one."

"Fuck." She assumes that's the end of it, but then Barry pulls off his t-shirt and starts using it on the puddle of oil as well. 

"Barry!"

"It's a spa in summer, it won't be that weird for people to go around topless," he defends. And she's sees his point, but that t-shirt is still going to be ruined forever. She's working hard to ignore the bare flex of his arms as he mops.

The knocking is more impatient now. "Shall I get Basil?" 

"No!" Iris and Barry shout together

Iris pauses. "Well, that wasn't suspicious at all." Then she sees Barry eyeing her t-shirt, his own already drenched in oil, and she folds her arms across her chest as she realises his intentions. "No."

"Come on," he wheedles. "There's not much left."

_ "No." _

"I've seen you in your underwear before," he says, as if that's placating at all. 

"The rest of the spa hasn't!"

"We'll sneak straight to the rooms," he soothes as he reaches for the hems of her shirt. "I'll buy you a new one."

She hears voices outside, and it's only because she wants to get this over with that she relents with a sigh. "Fine." 

But as she strips off to just her bra and hands over the t-shirt, the door handle turns, and the door begins to open. In a remarkable show of chivalry, considering two seconds ago he was all for parading her bra-covered breasts around the retreat, Barry moves to shield her from view. 

Of course, the puddle of oil ruins those noble intentions. 

As his knee moves through the oil, he loses his balance, sliding forward. The door opens wide behind him just as he crashes into Iris, knocking them both sprawling to the floor.

There's a moment of silence, only broken by Barry's groan from knocking his forehead against the floor. 

"Ah," she hears Reginald's distinctive voice from above them. 

"It's not what it looks like-" she tries to defend, but then again, they are half naked, on the floor, covered in massage oil. 

"No, no, I'll leave you two to it." She hates that she can hear the waggle of his eyebrows in his voice. "Just remember, it's Kissing Therapy in half an hour. Though I think you two are well-prepared, hmm?"

As he shuts the door, Iris thunks her head back against the floor in defeat. Barry rolls off her and lies on his back beside her.

"Can we arrest him just for being annoying?" Iris asks. 

"Probably not," Barry says. He adds, perhaps a shade too brightly, "Maybe he's involved in drug trafficking."

"Silver lining," Iris agrees. 

They just have time to store the stolen document safely in the room and change clothes before they have to be downstairs for Kissing Therapy. (Iris is glad she packed extra clothes between the abundance of glitter and oil related calamities.) She thinks she made a pretty convincing case for skipping it (purely because she wants to investigate more, not just because the idea of spending an hour having to kiss Barry sounds like a personal form of torture).

They actually manage to not be the last couple there for once - Paul and Adam arrive looking  _ very _ happy, and then Wally and Linda come in holding hands and with Linda’s hair ruffled at the back. Iris focuses on not thinking about what that means, and simply listens as Basil stands in front of them all.

“Please, everyone, sit on the grass with your partners,” he instructs, after giving Iris and Barry a secretive kind of wink. Once they’ve all done so, he explains, “Today’s Kissing Therapy is going to be a little different. We’re all going to take in turns to say a compliment to our partner, and everyone else is going to decide how long a kiss the compliment deserves.”

And Iris was just thinking that the only thing missing from this uncomfortable experience was the added judgement of strangers. Awesome. 

“Ursula and Tamara, you go first.” 

Ursula nods. “Tamara, I think you’ve always been beautiful, but now your happiness shines through since your transition and makes you even more so.”

Basil lets out a small coo, and Tamara herself looks slightly bowled over. “That’s a wonderful thing to say. Couples, what do we think that deserves?”

“A ten-second kiss?” offers Venus, which others in the group agree on. 

Iris tries not to be worried that they’re starting with ten seconds as she watches Tamara and Ursula oblige the request. Tamara returns the compliment, expanding on Ursula’s charity work and kindness enough to earn a seven-second kiss. 

Iris’s mind works as Basil works through the couples - it's mostly him and Venus who are judging the compliments, and Venus is certainly eager enough to instruct people on their kissing. Iris looks Barry over to see if he's as nervous as she is, but he seems relaxed.

In the order Basil's using, she's almost up to bat. She decides to just be honest, rather than try and over-analyse what kind of time kiss she should be aiming for (too long will draw too much attention - but so will too little).  

Basil looks to her expectantly, and she fights the urge to rub her sweaty palms on her jean-clad thighs. It's too late to worry about exposing too much. She turns to Barry, and fights to maintain eye contact despite how vulnerable she already feels. "Barry, you make me laugh, no matter what's going on or how stressed I am." Maybe that's not enough, so she quickly adds, "It's not just that you're funny, but you make me feel safe enough to laugh." 

It's true - for all the doubts she'd had about Barry's capability on this mission, he's been steady as a rock, enough for her to occasionally forget her worries about Sara and Laurel and her fear about facing Thawne. Barry’s eyes are soft as he looks back at her, and she know he hears the truth of her words. 

Basil nods, looking pleased. “Well, what do we think that earns?”

“Thirteen seconds,” Venus decides, which is a little too precise not to be awkward, but whatever. Iris wets the bottom of her lip, and leans in, resting her hands against Barry’s chest as she presses her lips to his. She’s hoping that will keep the boundaries she needs right now, but while one of his hands rests safely on her thigh, the other reaches up to gently cup her jaw as his tongue slips into her mouth. 

“Excellent!” Basil says, announcing the end of the time. Iris pulls away, hoping she doesn’t look as flustered as she feels. “Alright, Barry, now it’s your turn.”

“Right.” Barry clears his throat - is she imaging the flush high on his cheeks? “Iris, I think you’re breathtaking.”

There’s a pause, and then Basil says, gently, “Barry, we’re trying to focus on certain features. Is there a certain aspect of Iris you think is particularly, ah, breathtaking?” 

Being described as ‘breathtaking’ is making Iris fidget a little uncomfortably, and she doesn’t appreciate the fact that Barry is good enough at acting to make everyone else believe he’s being genuine. 

Barry shakes his head. “But it’s not just her looks, or anything specific like that. She literally takes my breath away sometimes with the things she says and the things she does. She’s funny and kind and brave.”

Iris isn’t the only one stunned into silence. Even Basil looks at a loss for anything to say, at both Barry’s words and the conviction in his tone that negates how insincere the words could have come across. 

“Um,” says Venus, eventually. “Are we allowed to suggest a compliment deserves a blowjob?”

Barry goes scarlet as Marco exclaims, scandalised, “Venus!” But the tension is effectively ruined, and Iris thinks Venus deserves a kiss of her own for that alone. 

“Let’s just say fifteen seconds,” Basil decides. 

Iris’s eyelids flutter shut as Barry carefully, slowly, cradles her head in his hands and kisses her for fifteen seconds that feel like a lifetime. It’s not fair, she thinks, for him to say that and then kiss her like  _ that _ , like it’s not all for show, like he cares for her, like he means any word of it. 

Rahul, Sandra and Lewis all take it in turns, and then it’s Wally and Linda. Iris knows she teases them, and she definitely doesn’t want to know anything about her little brother’s sex life, but she pulls herself out of her whirling mind to watch, genuinely interested for what they’ll say. Wally takes a moment to think, before he holds one of Linda’s hands in both of his, and says, “Linda, I love you.”

Iris clasps her hands to her mouth to stop herself from squealing and ruining the moment. Linda’s mouth falls open, and she doesn’t wait for anyone’s permission before she practically leaps on Wally, kissing him all over his face as he breaks into pleased laughter, and then passionately kissing him on the mouth. She only pulls away as Basil’s pointed coughing is starting to get aggressively loud, and says to Wally, “Fuck, I love you too.”

The group claps for them, and Iris is smiling so wide her cheeks start to feel a little sore. She’s never seen her brother so happy and content with someone, and she couldn’t ask for a better person for him to be with than one of her best friends. She chances a quick glance at Barry, only to find he’s already looking at her, equal happiness written all over his face. For just a moment, it’s easy to forget everything else. 

After Kissing Therapy, apparently they’re allowed another few hours to do what they want before the big mixer tonight. Iris suspects Basil’s just gone a bit soft because of Wally and Linda’s display, and the fact that Keith actually said something nice to Jessica. Iris and Barry go up to their room by some unspoken agreement, and Iris immediately flops into the big bed. Barry lets out a soft chuckle at the sight of her sprawled out over the spread. “I take it we’re not going to explore anymore before the mixer?” he asks. 

“Why is there even a mixer?” Iris asks, shifting her head to the side so the words aren’t lost in the pillow she had her face buried in, instead of answering his question. “We’ve spent the whole damn weekend mixing with the other couples.”

“I think it’s just more of a casual thing,” Barry offers, coming around to sit gingerly in the space not taken up by Iris. She obligingly shifts back to her side of the bed, and he brings his legs up onto the mattress, kicking his shoes off somewhere to reveal Superman patterned socks. 

Iris sighs, and answers his original question, “And yeah, I think it would be better if we investigated more when it’s dark, after the mixer, especially if we want to go into the woods.”

"Alright," Barry says, and he shifts down further into the bed. "Budge over, I want to nap as well, then."

Iris rolls her eyes, pretending she's not biting back a smile at his awkward shifting. He lifts the covers over both of them, and she does not allow herself to feel safe and tucked in, because she is not actually a heroine in a trashy romance novel. 

 

They wake up an hour or so later, the natural light streaming through the thin curtains and preventing them for sleeping any longer. Somehow, despite that small amount of time, their unconscious bodies found each other - their legs are coiled together and Barry’s front is pressed all along Iris’ back. She shifts as she wakes, and she knows she’s not imagining the solid length pressing against her ass, or the soft curse from Barry as he quickly shifts away. Maybe it should be less hurtful that he doesn’t want to date her despite having such clear chemistry, but it’s just a repeated and steady reminder that Iris is too fucked up to love. 

She changes into the one dress she packed in the bathroom, twisting part of her hair up and doing her make-up with a little more care than her daytime look. She walks out just as Barry’s straightening his tie in the mirror. They stare at each other for a beat - she knows she looks good, smokey eyes and a tight little red dress, but she certainly wasn’t prepared for Barry in a suit that actually fits him in all the right places. They hadn’t even discussed outfits but his slim red tie underneath his semi-casual blazer is, appallingly, almost the exact same shade. 

“You look...amazing,” he says softly. 

“You look pretty good yourself,” she replies, and she knows she's not imagining the crackle of electricity between them. It’s maybe a good job there’s a few feet separating them, because if they were any closer she honestly doesn’t think they’d be making it to the mixer. It’s only the echo of his words from this morning, of ‘this isn't real' and 'it never will be', __ that stops her from walking closer to him. She stiffly turns on her heel, grabbing her purse and making her way to the door. “Let’s go,” she says, twisting open the handle. 

“Can’t disappoint Basil,” he says, but he’s so much closer than she thought possible, an inch away from her back, and she can feel his breath tickle her ear, bare from her hair being brushed to the other side. She fights the full-body shiver, and keeps her spine straight as she walks into the hallway. 

The mixer is a simply affair, and clearly other hotel guests were invited as well; Iris takes in the unfamiliar faces by far outnumbering the familiar ones. The room is a relatively small one for the hotel, big enough for maybe fifty or so people. Wally and Linda aren’t there, and she highly doubts they’ll even show up. But Iris quickly spots Ursula, who’s nice enough, and she drags Barry with her to talk to her and Tamara. 

“Oh, Iris!” Ursula greets. “You look gorgeous!”

“Thanks, you too,” says Iris, and returns the hug and cheek kiss Ursula offers. “Last night at the retreat, huh?”

“Yes, can’t believe it’s almost over, really,” Ursula replies. But she smiles, and pulls Tamara closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “It’s certainly done wonders for our relationship. I feel I know Tammy in this whole new, intimate way. Is it similar for you and Barry?”

“Something like that,” hedges Iris. Barry stands a few inches apart from her, but it seems a far greater distance under the scrutiny of real and content couples. 

“Oh, you don’t give yourself enough credit,” Tamara dismisses. “We’ve all seen you two evolve as a couple. There’s a lot more trust there, it’s easy to see.”

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” hedges Barry. She’s kind of glad to see him just as uncomfortable with discussing the ins and outs of their relationship, even this late into the weekend. 

“Yes, that’s part of it,” Ursula muses. “But there’s something else.”

Tamara nods her agreement, and Iris scratches the back of her neck, unsure what to offer Ursula. 

Ursula continues, “I mean, it’s all over Iris’ face how much she cares for you, Barry.”

Iris promptly wishes for a hole to appear and swallow her up. 

She manages a smile, and a mumbled excuse about going to the buffet table, managing to avoid looking at his face completely. She knows she’s leaving him to explain her odd behaviour, but screw it, she’s certainly not in a position to. 

She's tempted to escape to the bathroom and hide in a cubicle for a while, but her father raised a stronger daughter than that, so she does, indeed, make her way to the buffet table. She's not especially hungry, but she puts a few spring rolls and some chicken wings onto her paper plate, shuffling down the line and then adding a handful of salad to stop herself from just piling on the messy comfort food. 

She goes to stand in the corner, picking at her food before giving up and hiding it on a nearby table behind a medium-sized statue. She's wondering how long she can feasibly stay away from Barry before someone notices (and who's going to be the one to notice, Venus or Basil?) when she sees Keith walking towards her. She plasters on a bright smile as he comes to stand in front of her. "Iris," he greets, smiling close-lipped. 

"Hey, Keith," she says. The smell of expensive cologne isn't a good mix with the cheap beer he's obviously been getting through at a substantial rate. His eyes are just a little unfocused as he leans further into her personal space. "You okay?"

He shrugs. "Did you know Jessica had an affair with my father's funeral director?"

Jesus. "Oh. That's rough, Keith."

He tilts his head. "Are you happy in your relationship?" His lips slur a little on the 'sh' sound, and she's starting to feel quite uncomfortable. She folds her arm across her chest, as if that'll keep him from coming any closer. 

"Yes," she says, but recent events and Keith's off-putting behaviour make her sound unsure. 

Keith raises his eyebrows, detecting the lack of truth in her words. "No, you're not."

Oddly, she feels as if Keith's the only one in this entire room she can actually tell the truth to. Maybe because he's more unhappy than she is, maybe because he's drunk and angry enough that no-one will believe him anyway. She licks her teeth and looks down. "No, I'm not."

He leans his arm next to her head, his rank breath hitting her straight in the face. She can see how he used to be handsome, was probably a catch twenty years ago. But now she's trapped, and his eyes are glazed. “I know. I see it.”

She looks desperately over his shoulder - yes, she could break his neck in two seconds if she wanted to, or at least snap some fingers off, but she can't cause a scene here - wondering if anyone will come to distract him. But despite a fair few people glancing in their direction, no one seems to be motivated to come over. Maybe they've seen the same thing Keith has and think this interaction is consensual, two unhappy people finding solace in each other. 

She pushes at his chest. "Stop it, Keith." He doesn't budge. "Keith, think of Jessica.”

She sees Barry pushing through a few people, his face alight with concern. 

“I am thinking of her,” Keith says coldly, before he leans in with purposeful lips. Iris manages to twist her face away, but his sticky mouth still lands on her jawline. 

That’s it. She shoves him away with all her hard earned force just as Barry reaches them, and Barry helps by pulling Keith further away by the back of his collar. 

“What the fuck?” Barry hisses in a low tone. Even more people are looking this way, and Iris reaches for Barry. She’s only really intending to pull him away from Keith in case he starts to swing for him, but he curls a protective arm around her shoulders and she finds herself leaning into his torso. “Keith, leave. Now.”

Keith’s lips twist meanly. “Sorry you caught us, I guess.”

“There was nothing to catch!” Iris protests, and her voice carries as more and more people hush their own conversations to listen in. She makes an effort to lower her voice. “Keith, you should go to bed. Sleep it off, alright?”

But Keith is turning to Barry now, ignoring her in favour of proving his masculinity or something. Maybe he sees Barry as a substitute for the funeral director Jessica slept with. Either way, Iris does not approve. “You don’t appreciate her enough. You deserve to be betrayed.”

Iris places her hand flat on Barry’s chest as she feels him move toward Keith angrily, a warning gesture. Barry’s hand squeezes on her bicep. “Fuck off, Keith.”

The whole room is watching now. Where the hell is Jessica, or Basil? She hopes someone has gone to get security or something. She’s sure Thawne has enough damn cronies around to at least save his guests from themselves. 

She looks up and sees Barry’s jaw tight and eyebrows turned down, angry like she’s rarely seen him and kind of dangerous from it. 

Keith points between them, his movements slow. “You two aren’t right for each other. You don’t care for each other. Everyone knows it.”

Iris hopes to god he’s not right, that all their lies and pretences haven’t been completely transparent. She knows if they are caught out, it’s her fault, and she feels anxious at the thought. “You’re wrong,” she says, trying to save their reputation, but it comes out hollow. Basil thought they were cute, at least, they  _ have  _ to have fooled some people. God knows that Barry’s made her question almost every interaction this weekend, and he’s not even trying to trick her. 

But Keith is shaking his head, and he rocks back on his heels. “You think I don’t know? You think I, of all people, can’t see through all your lies?”

“Iris and I know how we feel about each other,” Barry replies, his voice cold and unapologetic. “That’s all that matters.”

Keith jabs a finger at his chest, and Iris doesn’t even think before she slaps it away. Someone from the group half-heartedly says his name, tries to convince him to stop this, but it’s too late. There’s surely enough doubt forming from everyone else, especially those who didn’t even see Keith initially trying to kiss Iris. 

“I want to hear you say it,” he says, firmly, mean eyes trained on Barry. “If you claim you know how you feel,  _ say it _ .”

“Keith-” Iris tries, trying to dissuade the situation as it spins rapidly out of control, but Barry speaks over her with a clear, firm tone. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” Barry says, not a shake or stutter to his voice. “I love Iris. Alright? I am in love with this woman. So you need to back off and get a hold of yourself.”

Iris doesn’t really hear anything else that happens for a few moments. 

She vaguely acknowledges that Paul and Adam start to pull Keith away, and then two beefy guys wearing security guard uniforms take over, guiding Keith firmly from the room. Ursula and Tamara and Venus come rushing over, though Iris doesn’t know where the fuck they were a few moments ago. 

She clearly doesn’t know Barry like she thought she did. Because the friend she grew up with could never say those words when he didn’t mean them. 

She knows he must have justified it with the best of intentions, that it was the quickest way to dissuade the escalating situation. But it’s embarrassing, the way Ursula outs her feelings so casually and then, like some mockery or cosmic joke, Barry has to pretend to feel the same, in front of everyone. She feels humiliation like bile rising in her chest. 

She tunes back in as Barry gently shakes her. “Iris? You okay?” He must assume she’s shaken by the experience with Keith, and to be honest, it’s a good cover story. “Come on, let’s go back to the room.” 

He doesn’t stop touching her as they make their way out of the main room and towards the elevators. He gently rubs her arms, in what should be a soothing gesture. But as the elevator doors close on them, Iris steps away, leaning her hips against the cool metal rail that runs all around the edge. 

He sounds confused when he asks, “Iris?”

“I’m fine,” she says, looking at her feet. 

“Really?” he asks, sounding unimpressed with her obvious lie. 

She twists her lips, still avoiding look anywhere near him. “All this pretending... I’m not good at it.”

He doesn’t reply, and surely he must know by now. She’s terrible at hiding her feelings, but he’s a good enough guy to respect her dignity, maintaining her space in the elevator and all the way to the room. 

As they walk down the elevator, his phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. He makes an apologetic face, and holds it up to his ear. "Cisco?" he asks in a hushed voice. She vaguely recognises the name, maybe from a party or something they both attended. "Yeah, I- Okay. Yeah. Fine."

He hangs up, and Iris raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He twists his lips. "Uh, just a friend. Drunk dialled me."

That's understandable, especially with a surname beginning with A, and Iris doesn't comment further on it. She opens the door and begins to walk in. Barry clears his throat, and she spins slowly to see him fidgeting in the dull light of the evening. She hasn't turned on the room light yet, and so his expression is a little difficult to read. "I’m, um, just going to go to the convenience store."

She frowns. "The nearest one is a mile away, isn't it?"

He shrugs, just a shade too casually. "I'm out of shampoo. I'll be quick, don't worry."

"Fine," she says, and she shuts the door with a slam. Perhaps that was completely childish, but she saw Barry's shampoo in the shower that morning, and when she walks into the bathroom, the clear plastic casing confirms what she already knows: Barry has at least half a bottle left. She's obviously made him that uncomfortable with her feelings that he needs to physically run away. 

She stalks to the bed and angrily sits down on the end, flicking through the television channels in the hopes of it distracting her. She pauses eventually on a breaking news story, something about the Flash appearing to fight Rainbow Raider back in Central City. She doesn't know who she's mad at, really: Barry, for making her see all that she's missing out on, or herself, for allowing herself to fall so hard and so easily and so stupidly. 

But seeing the Flash on TV reminds her who she’s really mad at: Eobard Thawne. 

It’s time for her to stop sulking and feeling sorry for herself when her friends are in real danger, and time to start being fucking proactive. 

She efficiently and quickly strips off her fancy dress, pulling her hair into a tight ponytail and kicking open her suitcase. She unlocks the secret compartment at the bottom and starts pulling out first her costume, then her boots, then her utility belt, and finally, her mask. She slips it on, and feels the persona of the Jaguar sheath her, remind her that she is strong and badass and un-fucking-touchable. 

She pulls out her small pistol, loaded with real bullets, and slots it into her thigh holster. She thinks for a moment about leaving a note for Barry, but she doesn’t know what she’d say, what her excuse would be. She leaves out the window and scales down the back side of the manor hotel - if she comes back alive, then she’ll worry about lying to Barry. 

It’s not difficult to find Thawne’s main base - she makes her way to the same path she’d found on the hiking trip, sticking to the cover of trees and shadows, and eventually comes across a very clearly restricted area, with barbed wire and electrified fences. 

She backs up a few yards and waits for the inevitable truck driven by henchmen - about fifteen minutes later, when it does trundle past at a quiet five miles an hour, she jumps onto the back and climbs in with the cargo, hiding behind some large crates. One of them is open and she chances a quick look inside; it’s stuffed with assault rifles and semi-automatics. It’s times like these when she wishes she did bring her phone with her on these missions, if only to take incriminating photos. 

The truck drives into a large warehouse, and it’s empty and low-lit enough that she manages to quickly and silently jump out before the truck’s drivers come round to start unloading the goods. She keeps to the edges, sneaking around other parked trucks and the huge rows of storage shelves ordered across the width of the building. There’s nothing here giving her a clue about Laurel and Sara’s whereabouts - she feels the sharp edges of panic closing in when she thinks about being too late, about playing Kissing Therapy and couple make-believe while two of her friends were being killed. She forces the fear away; it won’t help her if the Lance sisters are actually still alive. 

The base isn’t that busy as she slips out of the warehouse. She’d guess there’s about three other warehouses of similar size, and very few security guards for a place this size. She’s about to feel relieved, before she realises that there’s no way Thawne would allow that. She can’t be the only one who worked out the suitability of having a base near his hotel. She hides behind a forklift as two patrol guards walk past. 

It’s obvious when she really thinks about it; this either isn’t the real base, or it’s only the surface one. She’d bet one of her kidneys that Thawne has reverted to a sixties cartoon villain, and keeps the more criminal activities underground. 

She waits in silence for an opportunity; a few moments later, a guard walks, by himself, past her and the forklift. She jumps out and wrestles him to the ground, using one hand over his mouth to stop him calling for help and one hand to tie his hands together with some cord she always keeps lung around her belt. 

She keeps on knee pressing into his back as she leans forward, and whispers, “How do I get underground?” He freezes, which is enough to confirm her suspicions, and shakes his head frantically. She huffs in frustration, and flips him over onto his back, still crouched over him. She rips off his helmet and before he can get any ideas, she pulls out her flip-knife and holds it to his throat. 

“Do you know who I am?” she asks, quietly, dangerously. She can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and he eyes the knife with dilated pupils. Sweat is prickling on his forehead. She takes that as a yes. “Then you know White Canary and Black Siren are my friends, and there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to get them back.” To reiterate that, she presses just the tip of the knife into the fat of his cheek, just enough to sting and eke out a blossoming drop of blood. She’s not planning on breaking her no-kill policy, but he doesn’t know that. No-one knows that. 

He nods to his waist, and she sees the pass attached to his hip. It’s got a barcode on it, so hopefully that means just an electronic entry. Then he kicks his chin up to point at the warehouse directly behind him, a few yards away. She watches, though her hold remains steady on the knife just in case the guard starts getting any ideas, as two security guards, wearing helmets, place similar looking passes to a sensor beside the door, and walk in. 

It seems too easy. Surely it can’t be as simple as that?

She looks back down at the guard. “I’m going to ask you one question, and then I’m going to leave you alive. But I know your name now, and your face. Do you know what that means?” 

He blinks at her, which is fine, because she wasn’t actually wanting a reply, what with him being gagged and all.

“It means that if you lie to me when I ask you this question, you will die in excruciating pain. Whatever trap you might send me into, however many men you think it takes to kill me, you’ll be wrong, and I will come for you.” To be honest, she sounds like a bad action movie script, but it seems to shake him up enough that she believes he’ll tell her the truth. “Now here’s the question: are White Canary and Black Siren still alive and on this base?”

He nods quickly enough that it seems common knowledge. She lets hope ebb through her. She can do this. She can save them-

She sees a flash of lightning. 

For a quick moment, she thinks it’s the Flash, that, somehow, he’s here. She’s not sure why she’s feels relieved rather than frightened. Maybe he’s come after Thawne as well - maybe she can convince him to just let her save Sara and Laurel. 

But the lightning isn’t red, it’s a bright, sickly kind of yellow, and it stops in front of the warehouse the guard had been pointing to. Underneath her, she feels him start to quiver - even his own guards are terrified of this. 

The blur of yellow stops vibrating, and she sees it’s a man wearing a yellow costume, similar to the Flash’s design but somehow so much scarier. If he turned around, he’d see her. She’d be dead before she could blink. Slowly, as quietly as she can, she reaches for the pocket on her belt, where she was sure she attached Snart’s anti-speed discs. But there’s nothing there - horror sinks through her as she realises she must have forgotten them in her hurry to leave the hotel room. 

She’s going to die because she was angsting over a boy.  _ Fuck _ . 

But, though she’s sure her pulse is beating loud enough for him to hear, he doesn’t turn. She watches as he starts vibrating again, and just phases straight through the door. 

There’s no way she has even a hope of getting Sara and Laurel out of here without those anti-speed discs. She barely has a hope _with_ them.  She looks back down at the guard, who seems just as relieved that the yellow man, who she can only presume is Thawne himself, didn’t see them. She knows she needs to go back to the hotel room, and though this guard seems plenty terrified, she can’t risk him alerting everyone about her before she gets back. She mouths a quick apology, and as his eyes widen in horror, she smacks him on the temple with the blunt edge of the knife handle, and his pupils roll back in his skull. He’ll wake up within a few minutes, but that’s plenty of time enough to tie him up with the cord securely, and stow him underneath the forklift. 

She doesn’t have enough time to wait around for a truck to leave the base - for all she knows, they could be staying in for the night now - so she finds a spot of the fence behind one of the warehouses, providing enough cover for her. She pulls out her suction gun, and starts climbing up the warehouse wall until she’s high enough to jump over the fence. She manages to avoid landing awkwardly, rolling with the momentum and mentally thanking Snart for all his work and design input on her cushioning soles. 

 

She doesn’t run back to the hotel, wanting to save her energy, but she walks as quickly as she can while also being stealthy. When she arrives at the back of the manor, she tries to remember which window is of their room; she thinks theirs still has the lights turned off, which means Barry isn’t home yet, but she doesn’t want to risk it. She climbs up the wall quickly, and the window to the hallway is open to let air circulate. She steals through, and it’s luckily deserted. She goes to their room number, and tests the handle. Still locked, which confirms it’s empty, thank god.

She quickly puts in the code and walks inside, taking off her mask to let her head breathe for a moment. She starts rummaging through her suitcase, and quickly finds the discs.  She’s just attaching them to her belt, inspecting one in particular to see if she needs to do anything else to make them work, when, suddenly, there’s a crackle of lightning all too familiar and a light filling the room in a flash.

Pun not intended. 

She looks up and sees the red costume facing her before anything else, sees the white and gold symbol and the form-fitting leather. 

It takes her a second longer to register the face, cowl pulled off to rest around his neck and hair scruffy from it. 

“Barry,” she breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Iris gets hit on by a drunk man who physically imposes on her, and she can't get away for fear of causing a scene. He also tries to kiss her.


	4. Chapter Four

His eyes taken in her black costume, the claws attached to her fingertips and the distinctive mask discarded a foot away from her. 

“Iris?” he says, somewhere between disbelief and confusion.

“You’re the Flash?” she blurts out, shock and horror making her mouth loose. 

“You’re the _ Jaguar _ ?” His voice carries just as much surprise. 

They’re both frozen. Iris is still holding one of the anti-speed discs, and Barry - or, the  _ Flash _ , holy fuck - isn’t moving a muscle. They’re maybe a few feet apart from each other. Iris knows, from experience, than the Flash can cover that distance in a tenth of a second, maybe less. It’s that thought that makes her hand move before her mind does, almost instinctively, acting as the Jaguar against the Flash rather than Iris against Barry. 

Her hand flips out - she must have the advantage of surprise, because he doesn’t manage to dodge it in time, and it lets out a buzz of a sound as it attaches itself to his thigh, light glowing to signal it’s working. 

He looks down at the disc, and then back at her. He tries to move his leg, but even Iris can see it’s laggish, slower than even a normal human movement. 

She regrets it immediately. She knows the strengths and weaknesses of the Flash, knows how to hit him where it’ll hurt. It’s what she would’ve done against the Flash, sure, but this is  _ Barry,  _ god. 

A flash of hurt crosses Barry’s features, but it hardens out. “Barry-” she begins, trying to apologise, but he moves too fast for her to finish. Not as fast as he can under normal conditions, with one limb dragging at human pace, but quick enough to throw the nearest object, a flower vase, at her head. 

She dodges, rolling forward, and kicking out instinctively. Some far away part of her is screaming for her to stop, but she kicks out at Barry’s chest and sends him staggering back, following up with a lash of her hand across his cheek. She can’t believe she just did that, created those angry red lines across the same face she’s kissed, the same face she’s grown up with.

His eyes are hard, and he zips around her to try and hold her around her collarbone. 

“I knew you were lying about Snart,” he says as she tries to push up on his forearm. “I never thought you were lying about the fucking Jaguar as well.”

She flips them both forward, throwing him with all her strength, and they both crash to the floor. She scrambles out of his hold, saying, “You’re one to talk! All that rubbish about believing in the Flash, bet you loved that ego boost, huh?” That was a mean thing to say, but he’s up just as quickly as she was, narrowly avoiding the right hook she aims at him. 

“Well, at least I know why you hate superheroes now,” he snaps back. “That bruise on your thigh when we had sex, that was from that fight when you and your friends were trying to steal from Mercury Labs, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I never got to repay you for that,” she says meanly, feeling inexplicably hurt at him bringing up their one night stand as something to taunt her with. She falls to a crouch and kicks out in a spinning motion, slicing at his ankles and making him lose his balance, landing with an ‘oof’ forced from his lungs. 

She moves forward, to see if she can get on top of him and maybe put an end to this, but he gets up too fast. To stop him from coming at her, she throws the closest thing to her, which just so happens to be the LA Clippers vest he had loaned her last night. It’s hits him squarely in the face, and he pauses for a moment as he pulls it away with an unimpressed expression. She can’t resist the jibe: “At least I don’t need to worry about your aim if you’re a Clippers fan.”

He narrows his eyes. “Oh yeah? Tell me, when was the last time the Miners were even in the championship?”

He starts spinning around her, making the furniture of the hotel bounce ominously. She’s seen him pull this oxygen-deprivation trick on enough metahumans, and she lashes out at the height of his collarbone. 

She’s intending just to stop him spinning, but she aims too high and ends up hitting him in the jugular with the side of her flattened hand. While he’s spluttering, she presses her advantage and elbows him in the head, not able to stop the wince as she hears the thud of bone under impact. 

He clutches at his face with glove-clad hands, and she dives for her suitcase landing on her knees. Snart gave her four of those discs, and she grabs another one, spinning around to aim it. As she does so, she sees Barry pulling the disc from his thigh with considerable effort, judging by the tense lines of his muscles and the gritted groan that escapes through his teeth. 

He rips off the fabric as well, and maybe that’s what makes her pause in such a crucial second, that peek of bare, vulnerable skin, reminding her of the person underneath the costume. But whatever the reason, she doesn’t throw the disc, and in a flash of lightning, she’s being dragged from the hotel room, strong arms wrapped around her and pulling her out of the window. 

For a horrible split-second, she thinks Barry’s going to drop her deliberately, but he carries her all the way down and further into the woods. 

He could have her in a jail cell in the next thirty seconds, and from there she can’t help Laurel and Sara - that thought alone is enough to motivate her into slapping the second disc onto whatever part of Barry’s body she can reach. It’s his chest, and he immediately slows as soon as the disc buzzes to alert it’s made contact. 

They’re in the middle of woodland, maybe a yard of clear space around them. She doesn’t allow herself to pause this time around, and she pushes away from him to land on her feet, quickly spinning to deliver a roundhouse kick to his face. She carries the momentum forward to crouch and punch the inside of his thigh. Upon impact, that leg falters, and he pitches forward to land on one knee. She sees the opportunity clearly, and quickly flips out her small pistol while she has a height advantage, and aims it at his face. 

But something’s wrong. He’s barely breathing, gasping and struggling for air, weak fingers scrabbling at the disc. It doesn’t take her long to realise what’s happened - she smacked the disc just above his left lung. It must have slowed the organ itself. 

Fear courses through her and she drops to her knees as well, throwing away her pistol and pushing away his twitching fingers to latch her claws around the disc. It’s stuck tight, and her breath starts coming fast and panicky as she can’t seem to pull the damned thing off. “No,  _ no _ ,” she’s chanting under her breath, “No, Barry, fuck.” 

He’s going red, and his panicked eyes are trained on her, and this can’t be happening. In all her wildest dreams of ending the Flash once and for all, she’d never imagined this, never thought she’d give everything she owns in a heartbeat for him to live. 

Her claws finally make enough space between Barry’s chest and the disc, ripping through the fabric of the suit. She pulls with all her strength, and finally,  _ finally _ , the disc pulls off. She falls back onto her ass with the force, and she chucks away the disc. 

He’s on top of her within a second, pushing her fully onto her back and his forearm pressing on her throat. In her panic, still stupid from the adrenaline of almost seeing him die, she reaches for her previously discarded pistol. But he’s got all his weight on top of her, the hand that isn’t resting on her throat threateningly holding her other wrist on the ground. 

She just needs to reach just an inch, just needs to wriggle a little-

But what is she actually going to do with that pistol? Hit Barry over the head with it?  _ Shoot _ him? 

She stops, lets the fight leave her. She turns her head back to look Barry in the eye. “I can’t,” she whispers. “Do whatever you need to do.”

He lets go of her in an instance, moving both arms to hold him up by her head. His expression looks pained. “Iris, fuck, like I could- you started it!” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t know how to react.” 

He leans down to rest his forehead against hers, their breath mingling between them. “Iris,” he says, aching and soft, and he sounds like he’s about to ask a question she doesn’t know how to answer. And she can’t deal with that, doesn’t know how she could possibly explain it all in way that he’d understand or believe. 

She threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him down. There’s a moment where she thinks he won’t respond, that he’ll remember how gone she is on him and he’ll pull away for her own good. 

But he sinks into her, breathing in with his nose to kiss her more deeply, firm lips and the sinuous stretch of his torso, lining up with her body and pressing her into the ground. It’s like all the times they’ve kissed on the retreat, both better and worse. She hasn’t forgotten how awful he found the idea of dating her, but god, it’s easy to push it aside when he kisses her like this, easy to use his surface attraction to her as an advantage.. 

“Who else knows?” he whispers against her lips. 

It could be a dirty interrogation trick, but she finds that she doesn’t care as he kisses along her jawline to suck a mark underneath her ear. “No one,” she admits on the tail-end of a gasp. “Who knows about you?”

“Cisco and Caitlin at S.T.A.R labs.” he says, and maybe this vulnerability to interrogation is going both ways. 

She rolls them both over, straddling him and using her tongue now. “Your coma?” she asks, like those nine months after the particle acceleration explosion weren’t awful for everyone involved and terrifying and a time she’s always wanted to forget. He nods in confirmation, hands slipping around her waist to pull her close, like they aren’t already joined together all along their bodies. Her utility belt is undoubtedly digging into his waist, but neither of them seem to care. 

“You really didn’t know?” he asks, in between quick kisses. She shakes her head. “Then why do you have those discs with you?”

She feels terrible that Barry assumed she knew and still reacted like that. She says quietly, because she can imagine his reaction to this fact, “I’m here to save Sara and Laurel. They were kidnapped by Thawne, and he’s a speedster as well.”

He pauses. “Does he wear yellow?” She nods. “Fuck. I didn’t realise- Cisco’s been calling him Reverse Flash. I should’ve-”

“I only just found out,” she says, stealing his mouth in another kiss to avoid the determination stealing his gaze. 

“So you work with Snart?” he asks after a few moments of luxurious, stolen kisses, referring to those discs. She nods, scratches at his scalp a little, but he continues. “And Black Siren and White Canary?”

“They’re the friends I was upset about on Wednesday night,” Iris admits into his throat. 

He lets out a groan as she inadvertently grinds down on his crotch. “Iris - oh, fuck,  _ Iris _ \- but they’re killers.” 

That sobers them both. She sits up and he looks up with a sad expression. 

“ _ You’re _ a killer,” he says like he didn’t want to, like it pains him to admit it. 

The hurt is indescribable. “Get the fuck away from me.” She pushes herself off him, like jumping into ice water. She shoves her costume back into place, scrambling to her feet. Barry is just sitting there, watching her, with a hurt expression like she’s the only messed up one here. He’s there, sitting defenceless, but now she knows he thinks so little of her that he’d believe-

“I never murdered anyone,” she says, her voice cold. “You may think the worst of me, but I would never.”

“Iris-”

She has to leave, has to get out of there. She isn’t actually surprised that he lets her go. 

 

_ Eighteen months ago… _

Jeremy Tell is a metahuman, who can pull razor-sharp magic playing cards from his skin. Which, okay, definitely on the top bracket of Weird Shit Iris Has Seen. She met him in one of the shadier bars of Central City after a meeting with her mother's doctor, after learning that Francine has barely a month left, even if Iris can afford a new brand of medicine for her stomach issues and failing kidneys. He'd come to her because he was looking for an alliance with the Lance sisters, but they were off on some errand with Malcolm Merlyn, and Iris was feeling particularly reckless anyway. She'd claimed to be the right woman for the job, and something in her eyes must have convinced him. 

That's how she's here, in over her fucking head, wishing she wasn't so wrapped up in her own desperation to ignore the tell-tale signs of his mad sadism. 

It was supposed to be a simple bank job, but he managed to convince her to go during the daytime, spouted bullshit about less alarms and more money. She thought it would be simple, maybe a way to raise her profile a bit and prove herself. 

But Tell had started taking hostages, and told her to watch over them while he went and took the money, and she could see one of the hostages was heavily pregnant, and it was too fucking much. She unlocked the main doors and then ran for Tell, letting the hostages make their own way out rather than escort them in case the police saw her and got trigger-happy. 

While they were escaping, she went deeper to find Tell, who had gone for the vaults. She rushes in to find that he's already gone, with most of the money. 

She's about to make a break for it as well - screw his blood money - when she hears, over the thunder of her own pulse, a wet, sickly gasp. She looks back in the vault and there, just behind one of the tables, is a twitching foot. 

She races around the table and skids to her knees, horror draining the colour from her face and the feeling in her hands. It's the security guard Tell took with him, with his throat slit and a bloody playing card beside him. 

Shaking, she tries to put her hands over the wound, tries to hold it all together, but there's too much blood already, and it keeps escaping through Iris' fingers. He’s looking at her with wide, shocked eyes, and she’s breathing fast, and there’s just  _ so much blood _ . He’s twitching and making these terrible wet sounds, and it’s the worst thing she’s ever seen, ever been a part of. 

She hates Tell with a passion she didn’t know she had, hates him for this unnecessary, awful murder and for putting her in this terrible situation. The guard barely has even a taser on his holster, what could he have possibly done to defend himself? She realises she’s sobbing, panic and horror festering themselves into hysteria, ugly noises and tears leaking behind her mask. 

The security guard stops twitching and gurgling, and his eyes no longer dart around as if she has any answers. Her head starts shaking. “No, you stay alive,  _ no _ -” but he’s not listening to her, not listening to anyone anymore. 

There’s blood spattered all over her costume and puddling where she kneels. She rocks back to sit on her heels, still crying. His name tag reads, ‘Benjamin H. Wilson’, and she snatches at it, ripping it from his uniform with her drenched gloves. 

She hears a whimper, and her chin darts back up, re-examining Wilson’s body. But he hasn’t moved. She looks around as the crying continues, and sees a small girl with curly hair and dark eyes. Her first thought is that she can’t deal with any more death, especially of a kid barely hit puberty, but she checks over the girl and doesn’t see any blood. “You okay?” she asks, but her voice wavers alarmingly. The girl shakes his head, which, yeah, dumb question, West. 

The girl must have run in here when Tell and Iris came in and started waving their weapons around. Iris feels like she could drown in the guilt for the trauma she and Tell have inflicted on this little girl. She’s never going to involve people in her crimes again, is going to stick to night and empty buildings, is going to hunt Tell down herself for even suggesting this and promising her empty assurances. 

She reaches out to the girl, but she recoils with a muted squeal, and Iris remembers that her gloves are dripping red. She rips them off, dropping them wherever and ignoring the squelch of their impact. “Hey,” she says, tries to make her voice soothing, reaches out with bare hands this time. She wishes she could take off the mask as well, but she doesn’t know whether to trust Tell’s claim that he shorted out all the security cameras at this point. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe, I promise. The cops are almost here, okay?”

“My mom-” the girl whispers, like she’s afraid of the answer. 

“She’s safe,” Iris promises, because she knows Tell didn’t hurt any of the hostages before he went for the money, and he definitely left through the back exit they’d both agreed on. “I promise you, everyone’s okay.” The girl’s eyes slid to the dead body of Benjamin, and Iris winces. “Ah, apart from him.”

She hears loud banging from the main reception area and the shouts of police officers - it’s time for her to run. As she stands, the girl grabs at her hand. “No, don’t leave me!”

Iris really needs to go, needs to get a head start if she has any hope of not being arrested. “I’m sorry, I have to. You’re going to be okay.” But despite her urgency, she can’t quite bear to leave the girl with the corpse, doesn’t want to add to the therapy sessions the poor girl is undoubtedly going to need. She picks the girl bodily up, because at this point, every second counts. She races forward and out of the vault, ignoring how, by clutching the girl to her chest, she’s smearing the blood of the guard between them.

She goes as close to the main reception as she dares, hoping the police are still too busy getting out the hostages. She can hear the chaos, and she’s going to have to sprint to make it out of there. She gently puts the girl back on the ground, and retracts her hands from around her. Fuck- she left her gloves with the body, but she doesn’t have time to go back. 

She watches the news religiously after that, watches the cops catch up to Tell and kill him in a shoot-out at his house, watches an interview with the little girl who’s trying to tell everyone that, ‘no, please, the Jaguar saved me!’ while everyone else presents the facts: the Jaguar killed Benjamin H. Wilson, father of two, charity marathoner, Boston graduate. 

The Jaguar is a murderer. 

 

_ Now. _

She bends down to pick up her discarded pistol before she starts running into the wood in the direction of Thawne’s base. She doesn’t have her mask, but she has two anti-speedster discs left, and she’s feeling reckless and raw. She’s not crying, just the wind rushing at her face from running is making her eyes water. 

It’s nearing midnight now, and it’s a little hard to believe she only left the base less than an hour ago. She sneaks in, using a picnic blanket she’d found discarded on the trail to cover the barbed wire on top of the fence, and climbs up and over. The keycard from the guard she’d accosted is still secure in one of her belt pockets, and she sees he’s still securely underneath the forklift as she makes her way for the warehouse. 

She slides the key card against the sensor while the immediate vicinity is empty, and darts inside as soon as the door opens wide enough. On the other side is a single set of stairs leading down, occasionally lit by small spotlights infrequently embedded in the walls. She holds her pistol straight in front of her as she descends. Because this is the single entrance in, she’s probably lost any ability to come in undetected - she imagines it won’t be long until she comes across a guard. She just hopes that Thawne’s not down there waiting for her. 

She takes each step quickly and keeping her tread light - the light dims as she goes deeper into the ground, which should hopefully give her a little advantage with her dark costume. The stairs turn at the bottom, and she slows her speed, making sure to make no sound with her footsteps. She slowly peeks around the corner - she can hear the step and noises of a few people, but they don’t sound like they’re that close. The passage opens onto a large room, a similar floor plan size to the warehouse above them. There are numerous crates spread around the space, and undoubtedly this space acts as a storage area for the illegal arms trade Thawne must be running. 

In the centre of the space is a large cage, with glass walls and sturdy metal bars holding it all together. Iris’ heart leaps into her throat when she sees who’s in there: Sara and Laurel, leaning against the back wall, eyes closed. They look awful, their costumes dirty and their faces haggard. 

There’s one guard directly in front of her, walking slowly without any clear purpose - probably bored on the night shift. 

She aims her pistol - as soon as she pulls the trigger, she’s going to need to move  _ very _ quickly. 

With a small  _ snikt _ , the tranq dart shoots, right on target, into the sliver of the guard’s exposed neck. He reaches up at the brief sting, but collapses to the floor with a thud, his gun rattling against the floor, before he can even touch the dart sticking out from his skin.

Iris is already in motion. She runs to the guard, ideally placed between two large crates that act as cover as she hears one of the other guards call for him in confusion. She rests her elbows on one of the crates to aim, and shoots down two more. She’d guess there’s no more than ten in the entire space, and they’re only just realising the intrusion - she just needs to get them all down before they raise the alarm she assumes is available. 

She takes off sprinting again and launches herself at another guard, rolling off his back as he crashes to the ground and already aiming her tranq pistol at one just about to aim his semi-automatic at her. Not all of them have guns, which she finds surprising - perhaps they were just assuming they could pick up one of the many stored around here. 

The remaining three rush at her at once, and she’s spinning and kicking and feeling adrenaline light her up. She knocks two of them together and pulls the other one back with her cord around his throat. 

She stands, breathing hard, waiting for the sound of an alarm or other guards rushing in. When only silence and Laurel’s confused murmur of “Iris?” responds, she races to the cage, leaving the guards unconscious on the floor. 

She hits the glass but it’s clearly reinforced, as if it wasn’t already enough of a clue that Sara and Laurel haven’t been able to get through with their own brute force. She scrambles for one of the discarded guns and feels like an NRA advert as she shoots at a specific section of the glass, making sure Sara and Laurel are at the opposite end of the cage. 

They’re so weak, tenderly getting to their feet, and obviously haven’t been fed in the few days they’ve been here. Iris forces past the guilt that wracks through her, and focuses on holding the gun steady. The cracks quickly appear, and within a few seconds, the glass is shattering. Iris drops the gun, and reaches forward to grab at the sisters, holding them close. 

“You came for us,” Sara croaks, sounding a little in disbelief. 

“Yeah,” Iris says. She doesn’t say anything about knowing they would’ve done the same for her, because she doesn’t, and she doesn’t say anything about them being safe now, because they’re not. “Come on, we need to go.”

They stumble back towards the stairs - the sisters manage to hold each other up, moving slowly, while Iris stays behind, eyes darting around and ears listening intently for any sound, any footsteps, any crackle of lightning. 

They’re all a few feet from the door when she feels her hair push forward around her face from a sudden gust of air. Fear makes her pulse skyrocket. 

She doesn’t even look round before she pushes at Sara and Laurel’s backs, exclaiming, “Go!” 

“Stop.” She hears a distorted voice sound, and she pauses, turning round. Despite how she’d left things, she was still hoping with all her heart that it would be Barry awaiting her when she turned round. At this point, jail would still probably be better than death (although her dad would find a way to whoop her ass either way). 

But the man is dressed in yellow. His whole body vibrates, and Iris turns fully to face him. Slowly, she reaches for her belt, hoping that he thinks she’s going for her gun. Then she realises the hurried footsteps that should have been sounding behind her have stopped. “Get out of here,” she says. 

“We’re good,” she hears Laurel say, her voice strong despite how Iris knows her body looks. 

“Yeah,” Sara agrees. Iris hears the crack of her knuckles. “I repay my debts, and I owe this guy a thing or two.”

Well, that’s sweet. They’re definitely going to die, but at least they’re not dying alone. 

“Cute,” says Thawne, tilting his head like he has to physically appraise their stupidity. 

“Don’t suppose you’d consider just letting us go?” Iris tries. “I left the oven on, you see.”

He makes a little humming sound - it’s difficult to tell whether that’s due to all the vibrations or it’s deliberate, but whatever. “Depends on whether you have any powers that would be useful to me.”

Iris shakes her head. “Human, no meta, I’m afraid.”

“Pity.”

“I do have one nifty trick, though,” replies Iris brightly, and with a strong flick of her wrist, she throws the penultimate disc. It lands on his arm, close to missing it thanks to the vibrations of the body it’s trying to latch on to. He darts towards her and she flinches, but he stops almost immediately, his arm lagging behind at such a slow speed that it must have felt like it being wrenched back by another force. She takes the moment of confusion to start running forward, knowing close-range is her best bet against a speedster, drawing out her tranq pistol as she yells, “Please! Sara, Laurel, go!” 

But Thawne adjusts quicker than she was expecting, and zips around her with only the flash of light and the air against her face to show him moving. He holds Sara and Laurel aloft by the backs of their costumes, and Iris feels her heart leap into her chest, even as she aims her gun straight at him. Despite the blur of his face, she thinks she sees a cruel smile grace the face visible from the mask. 

“What’s your plan now?” he asks, knowing he’s got her trapped. She refuses to let her arms shake, keeps her pistol steady and her biceps locked. Even if she manages to shoot him, she’s still only holding a tranq gun, and she knows speedsters have too fast a metabolism for it to hold. 

At her lack of an answer, he drops Sara and Laurel abruptly, carelessly, like they’re clothes he’s sheathing after a long day. She watches as he slowly reaches for the disc latched onto his bicep, whirring and glowing alight, with his unhindered arm. He curls his arm around it, and pulls. For a moment, Iris hopes that he’s going to struggle. And it looks like it takes definite effort looks like his arm speeds up deliberately to gain force, but he still pulls it off within a second or two. 

In the next beat, he’s in front of her, less than an inch in front of her gun. She swallows as he deliberately drops the disc at her feet. She hears the ping of it hitting the concrete floor. Her finger squeezes on the trigger, but he’s snatches her last hope from her hands and throws it away. Her hands drop uselessly to her side. 

He pulls off her mask with a wrench, and the force he uses makes it scratch her cheek, enough that she can feel a gash start to ooze warm blood down her jaw. He lets out a surprised laugh. “ _ You’re   _ the infamous Iris West-Allen?” 

She’s thrown by that. Even for evil monologues, that’s out of left field for sure. “I think you mean the infamous Iris West.”

“He must not know,” he muses, apparently to himself.

She’s about to die, feeling wild from it, and it’s kind of pissing her off that he’s talking nonsense. So she says - rather, she demands, “Take off your mask as well, then.”

He could literally grab her heart in between one pump and the next. But he reaches up and tugs off the cowl, letting it rest behind his neck. He’s a blond she doesn’t recognise, a particularly average face she’s a little disappointed by. 

“I’m from the future, I don’t mind that you don’t know me,” he says, like this whole thing is funny to him. There’s a shock of warm light that seems to be from behind Thawne, but it’s gone and Iris is kind of focused on the guy about to kill her. “I came back to set up my empire a little early.”

“How early?” Iris says. She doesn’t want to believe his ridiculous story - but who’d have believed in running at the speed of light either?

He leans even closer, close enough that Iris can feel his breath hit her face. “I was born in 2151.”

“Liar,” she says, though she can’t be sure.

“Well,” he says, reclining again and holding up his arm. Iris’ pulse starts going crazy as she sees just one of his hands start to vibrate. Her hand slowly reaches down for the last disc - no point saving it for another occasion. “That’s your choice, I suppose. I’d like to say this isn’t personal, but this is going to make him as upset as it’s going to make me happy. Sorry.”

His hand begins to inch towards her chest, and she feels everything slow down, and a mad part of her mind wonders whether this is what Barry experiences. Her fist curls around the last disc, and she’s about to slam it wherever she can get to, when, all of a sudden, he disappears. 

Or, rather, everything disappears. The factory around them disappears and the stale air of being underground disappears. She feels strong arms wrapped around her, even as wind rushes past her at a ridiculous speed. 

A moment later, they stop, and she’s deposited carefully on the ground. They’re in the woods, in the clearing with the absurd artificially-arrange tree stumps where Basil had first made them attempt kissing therapy. 

She’s glad to be out of there, but, “Sara and Laurel-”

“Are safe,” he promises, because it’s Barry, of  _ course _ it’s Barry, indistinguishable now she knows he belongs under that red suit. She lets out an exhale of relief and laughter. 

“You took your time,” Iris teases, giddy with his appearance, easily forgetting how they had left things not long ago. His hands flutter over her arms and her face like he’s checking her over, and then he’s cradling her face, eyes searching all over. 

“I was taking care of the guards. Are you okay?” he asks, urgent and tense. “Did he hurt you?” She shakes her head, because sure, he was about to, but her friends are safe and she’s safe and-

There’s a flash of lightning and her stomach sinks. His thumbs brush over her cheeks, eyes drinking her in as if for one last time, before his jaw visibly tightens and he turns to face Thawne, clad in yellow and buzzing. 

“Flash,” he says. 

She puts her hand against Barry’s back, wants to express her support through her touch, and feels his muscles rigid underneath her palm. 

“Thawne,” Barry replies. 

And then they’re off. All Iris can see a wild blur of red and yellow, zigzagging across her vision occasionally but most often out of sight into the woods. She feels vulnerable, all too aware that Thawne could zip by and stick his hand in her chest before she’d know it. Her pistol’s gone, and her suction gun is hardly going to be much help. All she has is the one disc left.

Then she spies something, hidden behind one of the stumps. She sprints towards it, hair flying around her face as the two speedsters battle it out around her, praying Barry's doing enough to keep Thawne away from her. 

She kneels by the tree stump, and almost laughs as she sees a discarded rucksack, the very one that Basil had equipped them all with. She rummages through it - surely Basil equipped them with a penknife, or something in case of an emergency? But no, there’s nothing, not even in the basic medical kit provided. She has her claws, but she knows Thawne's fast enough to dodge them, will hear and see her coming. Maybe if she had a knife, she could throw it… But there isn't a knife, and at the speed they're going, she could barely guarantee a target at all, never mind hitting the right one. She rummages through the bag desperately, looking for anything. 

She's just wrapping her hands around the metal, surprisingly heavy torch that Basil provided, a weird choice when they only went into the woods during the afternoon, when she's suddenly grabbed, pulled up to her feet, however unsteady she is at the speed. She's held in a choke hold, her back pressed along Thawne's front as Barry skids to a stop in front of them, horror plastered all over his face. 

"Please," Barry says, emotion thickening his voice. She doesn't know how to comfort him, how to tell him that her brother and father will mourn but they're strong enough to move on, that he doesn't need to take responsibility for this. 

She doesn't know how to tell him that she has a mad kind of plan, and that it’s not his fault if that goes wrong as well. 

She hears Thawne open his mouth, hears the exhale and quiet smack of his lips; presumably he's about to start another spiel. Before he can, she elbows him as hard as she can in his solar plexus. He doubles over just enough for his hold on her collarbone to weaken, and she twists quickly, knowing she has pretty much no time at all. 

She slams the disc against his costume, directly over his heart. 

There's a split-second where they just lock eyes, where she thinks it hasn't worked. 

But he stumbles, tries to vibrate and fails. He's gasping for breath and clutching at the disc, but he's too weak to pull it off, his entire circulation slowed. He falls to his knees, looking up at her with a distant kind of surprise in his eyes. She's still holding the torch in her hand. She senses, rather than sees or hears, Barry suddenly behind her. 

Thawne looks up at her, and she remembers that face about to kill her, about to kill Sara and Laurel. He would've killed Barry without a second of doubt. 

She smacks him round the head with the heaviest end of the torch, a resounding dull thud echoing into the night time air. Thanks, Basil, she thinks wryly. 

He falls to the ground. 

The full horror of what she's just done starts to sink in, and her legs threaten to fall out underneath her. Barry zips around her to block her vision of Thawne's body. "Iris?"

"I killed him," she says faintly. "Didn't I? I know he was awful, but-"

"You didn't kill him, okay?" He grips onto her arms. "Hey, listen to me. He's still breathing, you just slowed him down. Iris?"

"You swear?" She says, and finally looks up. 

“I swear.” His gaze is firm and she finds that she can't help but believe those green eyes. “I’m going to go take him to S.T.A.R labs now, Cisco has a jail cell specifically designed for him. Stay here, okay?”

She nods, breathes out, “Okay,” and then he’s gone, and so is Thawne. Without Barry’s strong hold on her, she’s free to fall gracelessly down on her ass. She totally just kicked the Reverse Flash’s ass. Sara and Laurel are safe. Barry-

Barry Allen is the Flash. 

She leans back on straight arms, feeling the dewy dirt between her fingers, and finally processes the fact. All the times they’d fought. Back in the hotel room, when she thought he was just avoiding her but he was really going to Central City to fight the Rainbow Raider. The way he’d promised her safety before they entered the hotel. 

She doesn’t know where Sara and Laurel are, whether they’re in the same jail block Barry is apparently taking Thawne. But he had said they were safe, so maybe he’s at least taken them somewhere they can recover or get medical attention. He told her to stay - does that mean he wants to take her to jail as well? 

He’s back before she can really work herself up into a panic, sliding to a stop in front of her. His cowl is down, and she puts the thought, no matter how urgent it may seem, that his cowl-hair is stupendously sexy, to the back of her mind. 

She gets to her feet and he watches her silently. When she’s  fully straightened, there’s a beat whether words seem to escape them. Iris begins, “So where are-” just as Barry says, “We should talk.”

Iris can’t argue with that. “Here?”

He shakes his head. “Maybe somewhere a bit more civil.” He opens his arms to her, and that’s something at least, that he’s waiting for her consent before whooshing them off.

Barry takes them into an apartment block from outside, pulling her onto the fire escape balcony and then letting her go first through the window. She immediately recognises it as his apartment, recognises the path they took to his bedroom and recognises the door she’d been pushed up against. 

“Do you want anything for your cheek?” he asks. To be honest, she’d forgotten about the scratch; she reaches up to touch it, and feels that it’s dried. She’s about to say no, but he continues, “I’ll go get something to clean it with.” He’s back before she can even realise he’s gone, holding cotton balls and some medical alcohol. 

“Thanks,” she says, and this whole situation is ridiculous and awkward and strained. 

He comes closer and starts dabbing at the small wound on her face - there’s a slight sting, but nothing unbearable. “It’s only shallow,” he offers, putting the medical equipment to the side. 

“Right,” she says, quietly. The apartment is dark, only a lamp by the couch turned on, and the atmosphere is tense. Iris inhales, and speaks first, already bored of prolonging the inevitable argument that’s about to go down. “Where are Sara and Laurel?”

“S.T.A.R labs,” he replies quietly. At her expression, he adds, “Just in the medical bay - Caitlin’s a doctor. Only Thawne’s in the jail, I swear.”

She bites her bottom lip, releases it. “Oh. Well, thank you.” She looks down at her fidgeting hands. “And, uh, thanks for not taking me straight to jail.” 

Her voice is light, misleadingly so, but he flinches at the insinuation. “Maybe I should,” he admits. “But I’ve never been able to think straight when it comes to you.”

“Barry-” she breathes, but he speaks over her. 

“Iris,” he says, and she supposes it’s fair that he has his own questions now. Her gaze is still downturned, but he’s so close, barely a few inches from her. He sounds sad. “Can I- I need to know why.”

She swallows. “It started with needing the money. And then...I don’t know. It was fun, stealing from the rich, and I made friends with Sara and Laurel and Snart., and it was like having this whole other life to escape to”

“But  _ why _ ?”

“My mom.”

“Your mom died when you were a kid.”

“No,” Iris shakes her head, eyes blurring a little and voice cracking. “No, Barry, she didn’t, she had a drug addiction, and then cancer, and dad was already sending money, and she needed medicine-”

His expression breaks, and he leans down to press his forehead against hers. 

“She’s dead now though,” Iris has to get it all of her chest. Now the truth’s out, it has to be the whole truth, even the ugly parts. “I’m still- I give it to charities but I still steal, I still break the law.” 

His hands gently cup her shoulders. The moment is intimate. She’s too vulnerable, too open. He could hit her or take her to jail or insult her and she’d let him. “You said you never killed anyone. But the man at the bank-”

“It was Teller,” she says, quietly, the force of one of her worst memories hitting her. “I found the guard dying, I tried to stop the bleeding, but. It was my fault.”

“Not if it was Teller who killed him,” he says, and it sound like he’s relieved; he obviously doesn’t understand that Iris is just as responsible. 

“I couldn’t save him. And I’m the one who agreed to work with Teller,” she refutes. “I’m still a villain, Barry, I’m not a good person.”

“I don’t believe that,” he says, simply. 

She huffs, tries to push away from him but he grabs onto her hands, just enough to keep her there but not enough to stop her if she really did want to leave. 

“Haven’t you thought,” he’s hesitant, afraid of her answer. “I mean, would you consider using your skills to really help people? You could be a hero, Iris, you really could.”

She wrings her hands; she wants to believe it, but it’s a difficult leap to make. It’s not like she’d never thought about it, about switching sides and no longer being associated with some really awful villains. She knows she’d like to make her father proud rather than live in fear of him finding out; maybe it’s time to honour rather than keep avenging her mother. 

“I could,” she says, eventually, chancing a look back at his expression. It breaks into a happy grin, a genuine one. It’s far from a promise, but they both recognise it as the potential beginning it is.

“Yeah?” Relief taints his voice. “That’s all I need to hear, Iris.” 

One corner of her lips lifts, a weak smile. “So no jail.”

He shakes his head. “No jail.” He’s looking down at her, smiling fondly, his eyes bright, and Iris needs to stop before she lets herself fall into that expression. 

She flops down onto his sofa, physically deflating from the night’s adrenaline and fright. “Well,” she says. “At least that means we’re done with the retreat.” 

“Yeah,” he sits down beside her, a few inches away with his hands clasped in the space between his long legs. They’re still in their costumes; Iris refuses to check out how well Barry fills his. Not the time, West. “I’m not going to miss Basil.”

She laughs a little, wondering how he’ll react when they don’t turn up to tomorrow’s Kissing Therapy. Then she frowns as something catches her eye. “Wait - is that my fin?” She’s damned sure it is, from her ridiculous King Shark costume, rumpled by the doorway of Barry’s bedroom, probably left there from when she had chucked it there.

“Ah,” Barry says, sounding embarrassed. “I, uh, haven’t had time to throw it out. Or return it.” 

She can hardly argue with that, since she’s responsible for pulling him into her mess as both a police escort and a superhero. “I’m sorry,” she eventually says into the silence that follows, slipping off her clawed gloves and gently placing them on her other side. 

Frowning, he asks, “For what?” 

“For dragging you into this,” she explains, waving her hand a little as a gesture. “For putting you in danger of Thawne. For making you associate with criminals.”

He rolls his eyes, lips quirking a touch ruefully. “I volunteered, remember?”

She makes a tutting sound. “Only because of Wally.”

His expression becomes odd, unreadable. “I don’t- are you being deliberately dense?”

“Oh.” She can’t help the hurt that makes her recoil slightly. “Unless you were just saying that to be nice, I guess. Did Singh really assign you?”

“Iris,” he says, slowly, deliberately. “I volunteered because it was  _ you _ . I was kidding in the car when I said it was because of Wally.”

“What?” she says, feeling a little upturned on her axis. 

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Why would that be obvious?” she asks, still feeling confused. There’s something missing from the explanation, and she can’t quite- 

He looks away. “You know I’m in love with you, Iris, come on.”

She blinks stupidly. “ _ What _ ?” 

“Since were were kids.” Despite his face turned to his feet, she can see the crease of his brow in his profile. “This is old news, Iris, you don’t need to be nice. I even said it last night.”

“You were just saying that to Keith,” she argues faintly.

“No.” He lets out a humourless laugh at the slow shake of her head. “You really didn’t know? Fuck. I thought for sure Wally would’ve told you.”

She remembers Wally occasionally teasing her, but how was she supposed to know the difference between him also teasing her about their twice-removed cousin Jeff, and her old poster of the Backstreet Boys? And anyway, “But you said to Wally-”

“When?”

“At the hotel, yesterday morning!” she persists, because she feels like she’s been whacked over the head with a bat and she needs to make sure she’s hearing things right. “You said you didn’t want to be in a relationship with me.”

“No,” he says, firmly. “No, I said we  _ couldn’t _ be in a relationship. Because you obviously don’t want to be in one!” He lets out a sigh after the exclamation, sounds pained when he continues, staring straight ahead with a hard gaze, “Why are you making me go back through all of this?”

“Barry,” she breathes. “I didn’t know.”

“Clearly.” He wrings his hands, and then pushes up from the sofa to stand. “Look, it’s been a long day, I’m sure you’re tired-”

She pulls at his hand, hard. He falls, startled by the motion since he _still_ _won’t look at her_ , since he still hasn’t seen the grin threatening to split her voice in two, back onto the sofa. As soon as he’s sat, a surprised huff escaping his lips, she swings her leg over his thighs and deposits herself in his lap. 

“Iris, what are you-”

She reaches out, grabs his hand and makes sure their fingers interlock; hers bared, his still gloved in red leather. It echoes the movement of the burger joint, just a few days ago, though god, doesn’t it feel longer?

“Barry, listen to me,” she says, making sure his eyes are locked on hers.. “Please stop trying to run away from me when I’m trying to tell you that I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you too.”

“You-?” Barry looks a little dazed. “You do?”

She feels her smile turn fond, reaches one hand up to hold his jaw, graze her thumb across the thin skin of his cheek. “‘Fraid so.” 

Once again, she feels like she’s teetering on a precipice, but she’s not nervous - she can’t be, when Barry’s eyes soften like that, when she can see the second he believes her. 

He surges forward to kiss her,  _ really _ kiss her, with purpose. She doesn’t know how she managed to trick herself with the kisses on the retreat when she’s got the real thing now, when the press and slide of his lips have enough intention to absolutely  _ wreck _ her. 

She pushes back, can’t just appreciate his mouth without giving back as good as she gets, and in one fluid movement, hoists her leg up and twists to straddle him, using her hips to slot on his lap and get her hands in his hair, messing up those cowl-ruffled locks even further. His hands reach to her back, fingers scrabbling at the small of her back and at her shoulder blades as she licks filthily into his mouth. 

She manages to wrench herself away for a moment as a sobering thought runs through her mind. “But, you still- you still feel that way?” she asks, heavy breathing but voice tentative. “Even after you know…” She leaves the sentence unfinished, gestures to her costume to allude to everything it represents, to her criminal activity and friends and blood-spattered past. 

His hands only tighten on her as he says, quite seriously, “If you hadn’t said you were going to change your ways before you kissed me, you could probably convince me right now to rob a convenience store with you.” He lets out a groan as she grinds down, creating a sensuous kind of friction despite the layers of protective leather between them. “Oh -  _ fuck  _ \- okay, a national bank. Or fuck it, let’s just take over the world.”

“Barry and Iris, on the run from the law,” she quips, reaching around him to try and find out where the hell he put the zip on his suit, still sinuously rolling her hips as he raises his to meet her. 

He pulls her close to him, leaning forward to breathe over her ear, “I don’t care where we run as long as I’m with you,” and, well, that’s just not fair. 

They barely manage to take off the costumes - Iris’s is still hanging on one ankle, trailing on the floor, and she just frees Barry’s cock from the red pants rather than try and get it all off. She doesn’t exactly want to admit that the suit’s a turn-on, but there’s certainly a thrill to fucking the hero of Central City. 

(They really should probably talk some more. Set boundaries and maybe go on a date, et cetera.. But she’s had a very sexually frustrated weekend, and the object of that frustration is sitting underneath in criminally tight red leather. Give her a break.) 

They’re tugging uselessly at each other’s costumes. Iris would tear off Barry’s leather if she still had her claws on, but she settles for helping him wriggle out of the top half for now. She pauses and he moves to trail a blazing path with his hot mouth down her throat and collarbone and breasts. She traces her fingers over a bruise on his ribs, which she knows wasn’t there when they went to bed last night. “Was that Thawne?” she asks without really thinking.

He glances down to follow the direction of her gaze, and exhales a gentle laugh. “No, ah, I think that one was actually from you.”

Guilt flares in her, as well as something else, something a little worse, something a little possessive at leaving her mark on him so clearly. Violence between partners is wrong, god, of course she knows that, but there’s something alight at having someone physically take the worst part of her and still come back for her. She thinks he understands by the way he bites an angry bruise into the flesh of her breast in response, soothes it with a kiss after the loud moan released from her. 

They’re pawing at each other, open-mouthed kisses and exploring tongues and muttered curses and escaping ‘I love you’s. They’re rutting, kissing bare skin and panting into each other’s mouths. He’s got two - no, now three - fingers inside of her, and then they start- “ _ Barry _ !” She hisses as she feels them start to vibrate, and she can’t do much else by clench her thighs, still pumping his cock in her hand, using the slick of his pre-come to ease any friction. 

She sees him try a smirk, but she twists on an upstroke and he gasps like he’s been sucker punched. “Iris, fuck, please-” 

She’s tempted to finish him off there and then, knows he’s close by the dilation of his pupils and the spots of colour high on his cheekbones. But the memory of Wednesday night, and the knowledge that now they can both really go for it, makes her let go of him and reach backwards. He lets out a whimper as she bends for her discarded costume and utility belt while staying on his lap, and flicks through the pockets until she finds the right one. She stretches back up, victoriously holding a foil wrapper between her fingers. 

“You’re dangerous,” he growls, pulling her back down into a frantic kiss, his long fingers tangling in her hair. She melts into him, thinks that if he’d destroy the world for her, she’d probably save it for him. 

She slides down onto him, and they both have to pause, just breathing on each other’s lips, sweaty and shaking. This is intense like nothing Iris has ever known. “Barry,” she says, and god, it’s obvious in her voice, obvious in the way it cracks. No-one’s ever known her like this, known the ugly layers and the broken parts. He knew her in braces and he knows her now, and it’s as daunting as it is freeing. She looks at him and she thinks she sees the same awe in his eyes, the same reaction to this wild intimacy. 

They finally move - Iris rises on her knees, his hands branding and kneading her ass, and then he lifts his hips to meet her halfway on a slick thrust. 

She braces her forearms on his shoulders, rolls her pelvis on the next thrust and letting out a punched gasp at the sensation. 

He leans forward, sucks a mark into her exposed throat.

Their bodies tremble. 

They fall over the edge together, trembling and clutching at each other. Fast and raw give way to slow intimacy, and he moves only far enough away from her to dispose of the condom and arrange them horizontally on the sofa, pulling the throw draped on the back of it over them. In his arms, she feels safer than she has in a long time. They’re curled together, facing each other. 

She closes her eyes, nuzzling her nose into his cheek and gently pressing her lips where she can without moving too much. 

“So,” he says, mouthing slightly at her earlobe, and she frowns, brain running slow post-orgasm. 

“So?” she prompts.

“You know I totally support your decision to ditch your supervillainy,” he says, in between quick, close-lipped kisses, and she’s tempted to ask  _ why _ exactly he’s trying to make conversation right now, when he continues, “But, you know, maybe you could keep the costume?”


End file.
